Silence and Kindness
by Mettemorphose
Summary: He would stop someone from calling anyone half the things he called her. It was just different with Effie Trinket. If he didn't beat her down, she would overrule him completely. Not that she didn't already, he realized as he was buttoning up a shirt for a party he never intended on attending. *Lightly smutty/Some violence*
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This is not my usual style at all, but I wanted to write something a bit different. I don't know if I managed. Well, whatever, enjoy anyway :D **

* * *

"What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You haven't said anything nasty to me the last hour, something must be wrong,"

"Don't confuse silence for kindness, princess," Haymitch slammed the glass down onto the glass table.

"You have some very serious problems Haymitch," Effie said shaking her head, then instantly bringing up a pocket mirror to check if her wig was still on right.

"And you have very serious … ugly-ness," he tried snapping back at her, which didn't really work the way he expected it to. He couldn't form the words he wanted to say to her, he probably didn't even _know_ the words he wanted to say to her. Though there had been plenty of time for learning profanities through his childhood and youth, he could never find one, which fit Effie Trinket. Sometimes he wondered if she even understood the sarcastic remarks he threw at her, for she never seemed to be rubbed by any of it – the worst she did was to get angry.

"I'm sorry if my presence hurts your eyes," she said calmly and looked resolutely into the mirror doing some sort of thing with some black paint on a brush. Haymitch never really understood that entire make-up thing. Not very many women in district 12 did it – or had the means to do it. Not very many women in the _districts_ did it, but here… In this godforsaken place, a woman would be called weird if she went outside looking like herself. It was surely a strange world, but he couldn't deny being just a _bit_ intrigued by it.

"If you could just shut your damn mouth, I might be able to stand looking at you, sweetheart,"

"I liked you better silent," she sighed, but seemed to comply with his wish and stayed voiceless.

* * *

He tolerated her. Yet his body deceived him sometimes when he saw her gliding past a half-open door wearing nothing but underwear, rushing to get a glass of water or picking up the phone if someone called the apartment. In the dim light he usually couldn't see her face, so he'd made one up in his mind, so he could imagine her before him if he wanted. He still had no idea what she looked like without her paint. And she had no idea that he knew what she … well kind of … blurrily looked like without her expensive dresses covering all the good parts. Haymitch liked to keep it that way. He figured he could probably fuck her if he wanted to, it wasn't like she looked like someone who was getting it on with a lot of men or anything, but he just _felt_ that if he _wanted_ he could do it. It would complicate things a lot, though, so it'd probably be stupid. And who said she didn't have some surgically fixed vagina, that wouldn't let anyone in who didn't say _please _and _thank you. _A laugh escaped him when he saw that for his inner eye. No. He had a feeling that Effie didn't have much surgical business going on. If one looked intensely enough on her face for a long time it looked just like a real face, almost, if one could decipher the deceiving highlights and crazy foundations from her real shape.

This was why he was so quick to painfully slam a covering pillow against his nether regions, when he heard her clacking heels in the hall. _Heels. Always those damned heels. Why don't she just go ahead and break an ankle so she can't run around here? _he thought and soon enough she stuck her head into his room and frowned at the overall appearance of the scene she was now witnessing.

"Why are you not ready yet? Have you been spending _all day_ in here?" Yes. Yes he had. But he wasn't about to admit to that. Or – actually, he would admit to pretty much anything right now, if she would just leave, so he could release the groan of pain stuck in his throat from frantically hiding the physical evidence of his not so proper thoughts about the escort.

"Do I have somewhere to be, princess?" he asked instead.

"Yes, Haymitch! We're going to the Victors' Party,"

"Not again,"

"Yeah, it's almost like it's tradition and they throw one _each year,_" He had never before heard her use that kind of spotting sarcasm. It fascinated him.

"I'm not going,"

"Oh yes you are. I personally promised president Snow that I would drag you to that party even if it was the last thing I did," she said and stepped inside. It was kind of cute how secure she wanted to look here, but her trembling knees and shaking hands were tell-tale signs that she did _not_ want to be caught dead in this situation ever again.

"I've bought you some new clothes, they should have been put in your dres- eew! What in the world do you keep in there?" she stepped back from the dresser and threw away the dirty sock she'd gotten a hold of instead of the fine white shirt she had bought him. He grinned at her, knowing very well that he had already spilled wine on the white shirt and he left the jacket of the set in a bar last night.

"Get lost sweetheart, I ain't leaving this bed,"

"I will turn your bed into a slab and carry you to that party,"

"Why do you even care?" he said annoyed at her while she searched through his dresser again obviously irritated with his lack of hygiene.

"Because if I'm ever going to get _anything_ out of this, I have to get bumped. And pleasing the president of Panem might just be a good way to get people to _like you, _isn't that what you always say? To get people to _like you,_" she said and pulled out a green shirt from his dresser. She held it for a moment dangling in front of her, before she gave up and quickly smelled it to check if it was clean. It was, but the intimacy of that move made Haymitch squirm. She should _not_ smell his clothes, whether it was for her own winning or his, no.

"Nobody's ever gonna like _you,_ Trinks," he muttered and ripped the shirt from her when she held it out to him as an approved replacement for the dress shirt. She only sighed impatiently at his comment.

"Get dressed, Haymitch. If it's any consolation – When I get bumped you won't have to … what did you call it … _bleach your eyes, _every time you lay them on me," she hissed at him. He smirked back through the blinding light of the lamp she just turned on.

"Shut up, Trinks," he mumbled at her. When _she_ sometimes used the things he said against him it actually hurt. He would stop someone from calling _anyone_ half the things he called _her._ It was just different with Effie Trinket. If he didn't beat her down, she would overrule him completely. Not that she didn't already, he realized as he was buttoning up a shirt for a party he never intended on attending. Meeting the old victors once again. Being celebrated for murdering innocent children. Not really his cup of tea.

"Where are the nice pants I put in here a week ago?" she asked him while she slapped his hands and fixed his tie in a manner that might have looked one hundred percent more decent than he would ever be able to do himself, though he heard her mutter something under her breath about it being _'good enough, nobody is going to look at his tie'. _

"Are you implying that you expect me to keep track of such things? I _could_ also just do the Reaping for you, princess," he said and pushed her aside. He never used violence against her. Only pushes and sometimes a grab, when he wanted her out of somewhere. It'd been close several times, though he had restrained himself thinking she was like a rare, contagious disease – better left untouched.

"Haymitch!" she blushed as he stepped out of bed, his manhood finally calmed down to do so, wearing nothing but the green shirt and a pair of briefs.

"Get me some pants instead of standing there acting like you've never seen a pair of legs before," he commanded her. She seemed to send a silent prayer towards the heavens and pulled out a pair of black pants for him. They weren't all that clean, but he suspected she had almost given up even dressing him, so it was probably wise to just put it on, less she would force him to go halfnaked to the party.

* * *

"We should've been here an hour ago, Haymitch," she said through gritted teeth, which quickly changed into a smile when she met someone whom she ran of with after muttering: "Be sure president Snow sees that you're here," to him in an almost pleading manner. Haymitch couldn't decide if Snow wanted people to actually come to this party or if he just wanted to torture him further by facing it all again. All around on the walls were big still pictures of the final kill. Of that moment, Claudius Templesmith always described as 'The _Climax_ of the Games'. He noted with a mixed feeling that there were no pictures of his final battle. It bothered him more than it should have. He did not _want_ to see it, but the fact that the Capitol still saw him as something to put pressure on, something to be _afraid _of did grind him a bit. They'd ruined him such a long time ago. He had nothing more to lose than his life and even that was such a miserable thing, that they probably wouldn't even bother with it. His legs automatically led him to the bar, where Chaff was sitting slumped over a beer with the nails on his one hand clicking against the surface of the bardesk.

"Yours dragged you here as well?" Haymitch sat down beside him, looking over the crowd of escorts, victors, prep teams and general upper class Capitol-people who were invited to this sophisticated bloodbath.

"Promotions coming up, hear there's an open spot in five," the mentor from eleven said. "She's plain crazy,"

"Oh, but you have yet to meet Effie Trinket," Haymitch warned him. He had been told that it was always the outer districts who got the most eccentric people. They needed them, because a district 1 tribute, a career, would be enough without the Capitol garbage surrounding them. 10, 11, 12 they were barely _enough_ with someone as high pitched as Effie to bring them attention.

"I'll pass," Chaff said and patted him on the shoulder with the stump arm, "They forgot to put your pretty face on that wall," he said in a whisper.

"I guess they did," Haymitch replied in a monotone voice.

"Good for you," his friend nodded. "Good for you," he repeated trailing of, eyes locked on his own picture of him, one arm still bleeding with infections, pushing a spear through the stomach of a tiny girl, who'd been hidden for most of his Games. Haymitch remembered watching the recaps of it, thinking about how dishonourable a man Chaff must have been, killing little girls like that. Only five years later he knew the exact feeling Chaff had felt when he ended her life.

"So, you're up for a bet right, Chaff?" Haymitch said to break the silence and furthermore save Chaff from dwelling too long at the memories this place revoked.

* * *

"This is entirely your fault!" she yelled at him, "if you hadn't – as _always_ – drunk that much-"

"Shut _up,_ princess, I don't _care,_" Haymitch shooed her away with an aggressive movement of his hand, while he wiped his sweaty forehead with the other. It had been a long time since he'd been this drunk. He could usually hold his alcohol pretty good.

"You _need_ to care! I'm a human being and you _disgracing _me like that in front of the entire population of the Capitol is _not_ how you treat a human being,"

Disgracing. Funny word to use. All he did was give her a kiss. A dare from Chaff. They _had_ drunk too much though. It hadn't been as he expected – at least not what he remembered from it. Somehow he had expected her to taste of lipstick, powder whatever she put on her face, but her, now pouting, red lips had been so sweet, he'd almost been close to enjoying it, as long as it lasted, before she had laughed awkwardly and tried to explain his actions as a result of alcohol. It would still be in the magazines tomorrow. He smirked.

"Go _away_," he sighed and felt another portion of vomit passing through his system.

"You could at least have done it nicely, Haymitch. I would have helped you win your stupid bet if you asked me," she said and kicked him lightly, mostly to see if he was still alive after the last bit of vomit left him.

"You would?" He raised an eyebrow and stated laughing, which really wasn't the best idea with his upset stomach.

"You can't even touch me, princess, you wouldn't have kissed _Seneca Crane_ for a bet," He knew Seneca was a soft spot for her. He'd heard her talk to her friends on the phone about this bearded gamemaker who seemed to swoop everyone away.

"Why is it that you insist on finding me so innocent, Haymitch?" she laughed and sat down on the edge of the tub.

"Because you insist on finding me a perverted pig, princess,"

"Well, you have done very little to prove me wrong," she said and blushed slightly under her make-up.

"Then prove _me_ wrong," Haymitch challenged her.

"I am not Chaff. I do have dignity, Haymitch," she reminded him. He couldn't decide if he was angry with her or just generally amused by her sudden backpedalling.

"You're proving me right, right now," he teased her. He wiped his face with some toilet paper inconveniently sticking to his damp stubble. He could still smirk at her, though she sat there in her horrendous yellow dress and played hard to get. She smacked her lips annoyed with him and got on her feet. So did he, chasing after her. Though he'd puked up a considerable amount of everything, he was still wasted to the point where he could barely even _begin_ to care what happened. He caught her in the hallway and smiled as he let a hand trail down to her waist.

"Remember what I said about perverted swine?" she said and slapped him over the fingers, which aided very little in getting his hand to move.

"Remember what I said about stuck up bitch?" he snapped back and leaned in so close to her face that he could smell her perfume mixed with his own reekings of sweat and vomit.

"You should remember who I am, before you take your next move," she reminded him, but there was not much anger in her voice anymore.

"You? I'm not even sure I want to remember that little thing at the party, when it's with _you,_" he laughed and she winced when he let the tip of his tongue touch her collarbone. Involuntarily she let out a slight sigh. He raised an eyebrow. _A sigh for more?_

"Haymitch!" she pushed him away, but he stood his ground. It didn't take much to be stronger than _her._

"Prove me wrong," he repeated, "prove to me that you actually are cable of human emotion,"

She looked at him. Irritated. A bit afraid maybe, but mostly just mad. He could feel something beneath his belt starting to roar, having had a taste of that milky white skin and being so close to her. In total power over what happened. Then she crashed so hard into him, that he could _feel_ his neck getting a slight bend, when she aimed for his lips with hers. This was pretty good proof.

"You taste like vomit, that's disgusting," she noted when she pulled away.

"You're disgusting," Haymitch told her and didn't give her another minute to breathe before he wanted to taste her lips again. He allowed his hands to roam on her body, since she seemed to have pretty much been defeated. She wrinkled his shirt on the front, clenching her fists tightly around the green fabric, pulling him closer.

"You're drunk," she said gasping for air as he let a hand slide under her skirt. He laughed at her.

"What's your excuse?" he asked lowly. Right now he was admittedly happy that he stayed, though their tributes as usual died on the first day of the Games. She moaned her answer against his chest and he decided it was time to see what he was dealing with. Somehow between the fourth and fifth button on her yellow dress, reality hit him. He was doing the exact thing he'd been sure he would never, ever do. He couldn't decide if he did this because he wanted to teach Effie Trinket a lesson or if he actually wanted to have sex with this woman. Either way he was soon ripped from his thoughts when she opened his belt and pants, not showing any of that innocence he'd teased her about earlier.

"It's been a while," she whispered while he half-carried her to her bedroom, opting for hers because he knew his bed was filled with bottles and that knife under his pillow wouldn't be the most titillating thing to get involved with.

"So you _are_ a prude," he said and allowed her to relieve herself of the bra, which was all that was really left on her.

"N-No," Touching Effie Trinket was something he never expected doing in real life and he could confirm that his fantasies hadn't always been … true to what he was seeing now. It wasn't bad. She had a nice body. He found it strange though, all the other Capitol women he'd been with (because what is a man to do, when the urge really checks in?) had had massive alterations. Tattoos, piercings, dyes, discrete little things that lit up in the dark. Effie looked human beneath her clothes, which puzzled him, since her fashion sense was so… Out there.

He pushed it aside and kicked off his pants. Arching her back she moaned into his skin as he spread her legs to allow himself to enter her.

"Haymitch," she half screamed when he did and clung tightly to him, pulling him so close he could barely breathe. Her nails dug deep into the skin of his back and he knew he would have marks of her in the morning. Her ecstatic moans and the way she spoke out his name, begging for him, for once not yelling or correcting him, made him reach his peak too fast. He collapsed next to her, sweating like a pig. Still wasted. He could have never done this sober.

"You win, princess," he said to her between deep breaths, "you are not that nice, little girl at all,"

"I guess not," she said and looked at him with something in her eyes that worried him. Some sort of affection. Maybe it was just the remains from the passion and lust, which had dominated them before.

"You're still a perverted pig, though," she said and rolled out of the bed. How fast she could return to her proper old self surprised him. She picked up his green shirt from the floor and put it on. Then she turned back around, looking like the shirt was _made_ to be on her this way. Even with her wig gone, dismissed to a corner of the room, she looked ten times better than _any_ of the other Capitol women he'd been with. She kissed his cheek softly before she left him alone in the silence, but he knew better than anyone not to mistake silence for kindness.

What in the world had he gotten himself into?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Yes, I decided to do a second chapter of this. I think I'll do a third too! I have a pretty good idea of a plot and shizzle, but I'm not sure when I'll get the time to write it out as I'm going to be working a lot the next few days. I'll see to it, though! :D

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"I love you – how does that sound?"

"Forced." he heard her unimpressed voice.

"What do you _want_ from me?" he asked and rubbed his face with a hand, which smelled like he'd been rubbing somewhere darker previously. Good thing he was only talking to her on the phone, for she would have yelled at him for making such an improper face.

"The truth? Is that too much to ask?"

"Well, what if _I_ don't even know the truth?"

"How can you _not_?" she insisted irritated.

"Because I haven't got an opinion,"

"Well, that's an opinion too, you don't care. I should have realized," she said obviously disappointed.

"It's not- God," he sighed deeply and felt the urge to just hang up on her and go back to his drinking.

"It's not that I _don't care, _there's just not much future in it, now is there princess?"

"_You _of all people caring about the future?"

"No, not … Not _the _future, _your _future, alright. Now hang up and go propose to Seneca Crane or something," he ordered her, taking out the cork of a bottle with his teeth and spitting it away. He wouldn't need to seal this bottle again after this conversation anyway. He took a sip.

"You're… You're so …"

"Thank you sweetheart, and you're the worst thing that the Capitol ever vomited up and sent to twelve," Haymitch said and looked up from his dirty nails, he'd been inspecting the last few minutes, to check the weather outside. It was raining like crazy. He looked back at his nails his fingers suddenly longing for her touch. Five long years had passed since he first had the chance to hold her properly. Or … Probably not what _she _would describe as proper, but he had at least gotten to hold her.

"I'm coming next week," she sighed resignedly and hung up.

* * *

He poured the rest of the white liquor over the fragile paper crane. Talent. Something to do while eternity (in a strong collaboration with Effie Trinket) ate his sanity. The weak paper picked up the liquid and crumbled into a blob on the table along other blobs. He couldn't remember who taught him to fold paper this way, but back when he won the games origami was _the _trend in the Capitol and what was more darling than a victor taking a piece of Capitol madness with him home? They filmed him folding a ton of those cranes. Fans sent him special papers, books and videos on how to do more elaborate things. They still laid in his hallway some of them, because he never got around to throwing it all away. The crane mechanism stuck though and there was a bitter satisfaction of not forgetting the complicated steps to making a paper crane, something that told him he still got it. Whatever _it_ showed to be. It was at the same time humiliating still clinging to this, the skills that they taught him. Could he still kill if he wanted to? Sure, probably not in the way they learned him at the trainingcentre for he remembered almost nothing from that, though every bit of the arena was still embedded in his brain forever. Sometimes the smell hit him here in 12, mixed up by the nature and the sterilized Capitol smell from the unused houses in the Victors Village, which once a year were checked through by officials. Nobody was allowed to live there and there had been problems with people wanting a home, a roof over their head, where they wouldn't freeze to death, squatting. When those check ups was done the houses reeked of Capitol air and that smell. That smell was the exact smell the arena had had. Poisonous, deceiving and pretty. He would sometimes vomit violently over the memories from that place. No matter how hard he closed his eyes they did not go away. No matter how much liquor he ingested there was nothing to do. Which often enough brought him back to the cranes. The fucking cranes every time. He threw the bottle towards the wall, where a crack in the woodwork showed he'd hit before. He didn't mind, for all he cared this house could fall apart right now and all there would be left was the paper cranes and the miserable skin of a human he was degraded to.

He decided to go for a walk. He needed liquor anyway. He looked to the empty houses all around him. The solitude out here didn't bother him much; there was no reason to be around him anyway. People in town knew who he was and tolerated him, but most kept to themselves when he passed them. Sometimes when some of the coalminers had had a bit too much to drink after a shift they'd yell at him, tell him to get lost. He understood. He wouldn't want a monster walking into his living area. He wondered what would happen if he hadn't won. If another victor that ultimately was the reason behind 47 other deaths came back. Would it be the same if he hadn't stuck it to the Capitol and just bled out and let the girl from 1 win? It was mostly luck anyway. But yes he understood. It was as complicated as a paper crane – and fragile as one too – the people of the district had to respect him, because he showered them with grain and other good things for a year. They had to honour him because we _won._ But there were also three families that never saw their child again because of him. He hadn't killed them personally, but it was all the same. There were the families of all the other tributes who died while he was their mentor. Even the friends of his own family denounced him after their deaths. His legs carried him to the Hob. He had a few friends here, though. People as low as him. He gave them money, they lend him their ears for an hour, while they both ate some stew from Greasy Sae or munched on some other district 12 delicacy. There was never anything new to talk about. Nothing happened. He never talked about the Hunger Games and most people were smart enough to not mention it as well, but as the reaping came nearer and nearer he got more an more anxious. He couldn't stop it, even if he wanted. There was something bittersweet about returning to the Capitol once a year. For one he liked it. He liked getting together with old mentor-friends, who knew exactly how he felt. They'd killed and won and bore the guilt, some better than him, some worse, but they all carried the same burden and they could all share it once together. On the other hand it sucked. For obvious reasons. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the faces of the crowd shouting for more at his victory tour. Sometimes he could hear Effie Trinket ecstatically clapping when their tributes showed to have a talent. Yeah, Effie Trinket, another reason it was so bittersweet to return to that place. The worst part of it was that Effie seemed unaffected by anything he could say to her. Still to this day he treated her like shit 90% of the time and she rarely ever raised her voice at him anymore. He probably _did_ love her in some weird, twisted way. Hard not to, he'd realized over the years. He could be so pissed at her, that he wanted to punch her so hard in the stomach that she could never breathe again, but he couldn't hate her anymore. Not like he used to. Not after she opened up a bit to him and he'd let himself soften by her patient and hardworking tries at getting him to realize not everything was as black/white as he saw it. She didn't know that the only thing he saw in full colour was her. He paid for his new supply of booze and decided not to stick around and to get home before the rain increased.

* * *

"I volunteer!" Haymitch saw her freezing up on stage, holding the paper slip with the 12-year old's name on it while the crowd silently saluted Katniss Everdeen. The dark haired girl screaming for attention from one of the back rows had made a reaction, which had completely paralyzed the dear escort. Were they even trained in this, the escorts they sent to 12? They didn't need to worry about volunteers. There had never been any. He decided to do something. To save her from stumbling over her words, like she'd saved him from stumbling over his legs several times in the past. So he did what any man as drunk as him would have done. He crossed the stage and gave her the most awkward hug in the world. She pushed him away muttering obscenities, but it did help. She got back on track anyway. He grinned at her, almost forgetting the conversation they'd had last week. About feelings and whatnot.

"Peeta Mellark," No volunteers. No sound. Just the faint noise of him walking up to stage, obviously blinking a few frightened tears away. The girl just pouted at him. How she reminded him of himself. But then again, Haymitch saw himself in every single tribute's eyes, when they realized they had just been given their death sentence.

He stared at Effie Trinket as she caught his eye walking back into the Justice Building. She looked annoyed. Maybe sad. She had never forgiven him. Would probably never forgive him, for making these sort of public stunts. The kiss, the hug, the blatant critique of her city. People whispered in the corners and it wasn't good for her reputation. _At least make it official then, Haymitch, at least do it properly._ One of the many things she'd asked him, which he'd denied. He wasn't in a relationship with this woman, it was absurd. Absurd to think someone like her would be happy with him. But then again, he was only ever happy or close to it, when he saw her.

"They're saying goodbye, keep your voice down," she said to him as the first thing. Not _hello Haymitch _or _I've missed you._ No, she gave him an order.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he touched her wig, waiting for it to fall of. It never did. She'd learned from her mistakes previously.

"I hope you're talking about your own reflection,"

"Shut up, princess," Haymitch laughed before he pulled her in for a kiss. No questions or explanations. He couldn't explain himself anyway, so it was probably for the best not to try. A light cough made her push him away so hard he felt a bruise forming on his chest, where she'd hit. The mayor was still in the room with them. Or was now. She blushed so deeply it was visible even through her make-up.

"I believe you have to notify the Capitol of the event of a volunteer, miss Trinket," he said calmly, but obviously not completely unaffected by what he had just seen.

"Y-Yes thank you for r-reminding me, Mr Mayor," Effie stuttered trying to put her face into folds, that signalled that she had never even touched Haymitch – which was hard, since her hand was still clutched tightly together with his. Haymitch just had the urge to laugh. He didn't really care if the world saw him kissing Effie Trinket. What difference would it make in his life? The mayor left. Effie arose from the green chair.

"I'll be back in a minute, I _do_ actually have to call them,"

"Say hello to Crane from me," Haymitch urged her and leaned back in the chair, which creaked suspiciously under his weight.

"Shh, Haymitch," she waved him off talking on the phone.

"Yes, yes, thank you Sen, yes I'm all new at this, huh, no there hasn't been any- No Seneca, stop," Haymitch listened with half an ear, not really caring for her Capitol chatter with the receiving end. He made up himself what Seneca asked about so he could have some fun with it.

"No, Sen, no I won't. I know. Let's not talk about this _right now,_" Haymitch felt her eyes settle on him. He sent her a questioning look, but she shook her head slightly.

"Goodbye, Seneca," she put the phone down and stared at him challenging him to say something, blushing with anger.

"You forgot to say hi," He said and smiled as she restrained herself from slapping him.

"What's wrong princess?" He laughed.

"That _man_ has been on my back since he was promoted to head gamemaker, it's like having a second shadow!" she ranted.

"I thought you wanted him,"

"Isn't that just something you made up a long time ago?"

"Maybe. I was probably drunk,"

"You still are," she hissed and looked towards the rooms where the tributes soon would be done saying their final goodbyes. Her face grew more serious as she turned back to him.

"Haymitch about that…"

"_Not now,_ princess," Haymitch sighed and hit his head back against the wall rolling his eyes.

"Alright, but I'm not going to let you avoid the subject forever,"

"Come back here," He reached for her. He wanted to put an insult at the end of his sentence so he didn't sound too eager to have her in his embrace, but it never left his lips.

"They'll be out soon," She motioned to the doors.

"Soon – not now," Haymitch insisted and got up to bring her closer to him. She stood still as a statue, but she softened a bit when he kissed her gently. Without all the usual hassle. Without a mayor looking at them. He felt an overwhelming uncertainty in his stomach. He wanted this, but he didn't want this for her. There wasn't much he could give her other than a few witty remarks and a life with mental abuse and neglect. She was better off with someone like Crane, which was why he kept pushing her to date the man – even if it would just be out of spite or to shut Haymitch up. No matter how hard the words leaving his mouth was he wouldn't bear to see her fall.

* * *

"No. Noo…" she said and pushed his hands away, "I have a headache,"

"Wow, never heard that before," Haymitch said sarcastically and rolled onto his side.

"I'm just not in the mood right now," she said and opened her eyes to look at him.

"That Crane has really got you annoyed, huh?"

"This is hardly about Sen,"

"Does he call you Effsipops or something?"

"What?"

"Never mind, why don't you just go out with him?"

"You're always such a gentleman. Five seconds ago you were fondling my breasts and now you ask me to go out with another man," she sighed.

"Well, times change,"

"I'm going to sleep," she said. His turn to let out a sigh. He put an arm around her, it'd been a weird day, but finally having her here, with or without the physical stimulation he'd hoped for, was worth sitting through another reaping. The train slowly rocked them to sleep. They slept in her bed, Haymitch still worried about the sanitary of his own. Hers smelled like lavender and lilacs. Like a flower field. The smell of this didn't do much to calm his anxiety for the nightmares, the pretty odour sending him straight back into the arena with the poisonous flowers. And in the middle of it all was Effie Trinket, as poisonous as the flowers in his arena. She'd infected him at least, but he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted the antidote.

* * *

He couldn't keep his jaw from dropping when he saw her in that dress. It wasn't like he hadn't seen every inch of her body before, but somehow this eerie blue fabric, that flowed from her skin like water, made her look like some kind of goddess. She was wearing silver make-up, which caught the flecks of glitter in the fabric and a short blue wig. Water. As opposed very much to Katniss' fiery entrance and interview.

"What are you staring at, you look like you've never seen me before,"

"I'm always astounded by how horrendous you look, princess," he said disarmingly.

"There's eyebleach in the kitchen. You should be happy,"

"Why?" he said with an almost manic laugh. Happy. Happiness was a dream.

"I'm taking your advice. Going on a date," she said and looked at him, obviously waiting for the reaction.

"Crane?"

"Yes, Sen has invited me to dinner and then we'll go to the Victor's Party together,"

"That's tonight huh?" Haymitch looked away from her. Remembering that night so many years ago that had started everything between them.

"I don't suppose you plan on going,"

"I would go solely to see you making an ass of your pretty little self in front of Crane," Haymitch said.

"Do you mean that?"

"Mean what?"

"That…"

"Yeah… And the free booze is always a plus, but I get both booze and you making an ass of yourself here, all I need is Crane. Could you bring him home afterwards?"

She looked at him with a hurt look.

"I'm not _that_ kind of person," she said to him in a manner, that almost made him wish they'd never started this conversation at all.

"Didn't say you were, Trinks," he said softly to put a lid on it. Too late.

"I mean… I'm only doing this because you asked me to. I don't even _know_ Sen that well, he's just… I wanted someone else," she talked to her feet rather than at him.

"That someone else does _not_ want you," Haymitch said harshly to her, but his lie was easy to see through as some sort of guilty jealousy roared inside him. He wasn't allowed to be jealous. He was allowed though, to feel guilty.

"I know. He takes pleasure in telling me daily," she said with a brittle voice. And Haymitch had always thought Effie Trinket couldn't get hurt over something as silly as feelings. Table manners were something completely different.

"He's picking you up?" Haymitch asked as the intercom rang, revealing some person outside wanting her attention. She nodded.

"Thank you, Haymitch," she said as a persistent long ring told her it was _really_ time to go.

"For what?" he asked surprised.

"For calling me pretty, I like that," She blushed and left him without a second word.

* * *

"If we decide not to care, we should stop this," Effie said and rolled out of his bed.

"Do you really _want_ this conversation, princess?" Haymitch rolled his eyes and let a hand reach out for her. He touched her awkwardly on her naked thigh, but he could feel the tremors he sent through her with slight satisfaction.

"Why can't you just hurt me all at once instead of doing it in small pieces? I'd rather rip of the bandage than have you poking the wound each time you go near me,"

"Such poetry coming out of you, huh?"

"Please, Haymitch," she begged picking up her blouse to cover herself.

"Alright, speak then," He said and pulled back his hand.

"My question is the same as always,"

"Then don't you think my answer remains the same? I can't… We can't just do this,"

"What's stopping you?"

"For once I live in district 12-"

"But you _could_ move to the Capitol if you wanted to. You know, Victors can do that,"

"I want to live in this ugly place as much as you want to live in 12," She pursed his lips at his reply.

"What are your other reasons?"

"You want them all?"

"Do you even like me?" she asked irritated.

"You, yes. Your face and your voice and everything you stand for? No," Haymitch answered.

"Listen…" he started.

"What is it Haymitch? What's so _wrong_ with me?" she asked getting angrier by the minute. There was no one and only reason as to why he couldn't see himself living the life with her. For five years they'd been beating around the bush, the first few years barely exchanging kisses that had any other purpose than to satisfy needs. They'd been fuckbuddies. Or not exactly 'buddies' but something equivalent of fuckbuddies only without the friendship. They'd escalated to lovers now. Kisses exchanged for security, for recognition, for habit.

"I can't be with you because…" He felt humiliated. He hated these feelings. These ghosts from the past coming back to haunt him even when he was awake.

"Why?" she was almost yelling now, which made him feel even smaller.

"The last girl I loved got killed because of me," he whispered and looked into the ceiling. She stopped completely in what he suspected was a long monologue about how he should appreciate her more. Instead she just stood there, her mouth slightly open, staring at him. He wasn't looking back, but he could feel her eyes trying to drill into his.

"I'm afraid, Effie, alright, let's just keep it at that,"

"_You're_ afraid?" she asked with her voice decreased so much in volume he didn't even recognize it was her saying it before his brain told him it could be no one else.

"Scared shitless actually," Haymitch agreed and nodded at her.

She crawled back into bed and kissed his cheek, he felt his blood rushing to his face.

"And here I was thinking you just despised me," Effie said and let a hand rest on his chest as she lay down beside him seemingly giving up her plans about leaving him alone again.

"I don't _despise _you," Haymitch shook his head and slipped an arm around her shoulder.

"You don't love me either," Effie said to him, not looking at him.

"Princess -" Haymitch begged her.

"What?" she asked.

"What we … _have …_ is probably the closest I'll ever _get_ to _love,_ but I seriously don't deserv-"

"Shut up, Haymitch," she hissed at him, her eyes widening, "if _you_'re in the category that does not deserve love, where does that put me?"

"Far above me, princess, you … You should find someone your own age, who can give you-"

"How old do you think I am?" she interrupted. He stared blankly at him.

"I'm 33, Haymitch, it's not like you're not my age," she raised an eyebrow and suddenly began laughing. Manically. Couldn't stop. Haymitch smiled and patted her on the head, gently pushing her to lie on his shoulder.

"You look about 80, sweetheart, that's what I meant. Maybe I'm not mature enough for you," he said, the joke leaving his lips without the usual harshness or sarcasm. He couldn't stop smiling as she kept laughing, tears streaming down her face from the fit, she tried to contain.

"Be careful you might just trick me into loving you if you keep laughing," he whispered and closed his eyes after kissing her just below her hairline, smelling the strawberry scented shampoo. It wouldn't be hard to get used to this, lying here with her every evening, getting to feel her tiny heartbeat, sharing the warmth from her body. He still did not want her to cling to him or expect anything, but for this night, they could pretend nothing else mattered. Tomorrow would be different. But a proper goodbye was always in place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **_This is the first fic I do, where I write as I go. I usually write all of the fic out and break it up an post - that is why this is such a slow updater. I know what's going to happen, though, so I try to get writing as fast as I can. I wrote this chapter in one day, so I guess I can update almost as often as with my other fics. When I am done with this I think I might continue _Cold_ or write something completely different! _

_Anyway! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)  
_

* * *

"Did I do good, Effsie?" Haymitch had picked up the phone in the apartment for the first time. He hadn't said a word, because the gamemaker started talking before he had a chance to.

"Eff?" Seneca insisted.

"They're both alive, right? You have got to… You said you wanted to win, right Effsie?" Haymitch slowly understood the depth of this thing. It was no coincidence that both their tributes had won.

"Effie are you there? Hold on, someone's coming," Silence. But not even something close to kindness. Haymitch heard the turmoil and a loud groan of pain on the other end and he was suddenly glad Effie wasn't here to pick up this call. He hung up the phone, trying to make sense of it all. The happiness of finally winning was long gone. With Seneca being taken away it was only a matter of time before they'd come knocking here.

* * *

"Haymitch if this is one of your jokes, I swear I'm going to have someone rip your head clean of," Effie whispered to him as the peacekeepers guided them towards the car, which would take them to the interrogation, the peacekeepers had announced when they with brute forced nearly had scared the escort to death by breaking down the door, while she was getting ready. She hadn't had time to put on make-up or wig, but sat in her wig cap with a bare face and looked humiliated.

"I wouldn't do this to you," Haymitch said back with a sigh. He was glad Effie hadn't panicked for the peacekeepers, now driving the car, seemed incapable of sympathy. They had not even let Effie put a coat over the night gown she was wearing, but since Haymitch had passed out in his suit from the day before he had offered her the wrinkled jacket to cover herself up. She now sat in his jacket and looked like the world was ending.

"I know," She didn't really move her lips. Haymitch would have loved to crack a joke or even just go back to his usual bitter, sarcastic comments, but he couldn't even make one up. There was simply _nothing_ funny about this situation. _Nothing. _Nothing he could do either. They both knew that if you were first _invited_ to an interrogation in this manner, you couldn't count on returning back. Some people did, most people didn't. He found himself so indifferent it scared him. Though he really _tried_ to care if he lived or died, he couldn't. There was not much of a difference for him. Now imagining _her_ dying was an entirely different scenario.

* * *

The pressure that was suddenly applied to his arm by her gripping it made him involuntarily groan in pain. As pale white as Seneca had become by hanging there, the intricate beard and his dark hair stood out along the nicely trimmed eyebrows, making his eyes appear like he was just sleeping. But not very many men slept hanging in a noose. Effie had let out a shriek when she saw him and though Haymitch _had_ given her credit for not panicking before, she was panicking now.

"Euphemia Trinket, Haymitch Abernathy," This voice. Haymitch closed his eyes, preparing for what was to come, when Effie realized they wouldn't get out of here. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that he had subconsciously stepped in front of her, standing almost face to face with president Snow, reeking from the blood and fake roses – as usual. Haymitch was a bit taller than the president, but he still felt like the man could crush him with a single touch.

"Nice outfit," He smirked at Effie standing in the oversized men's jacket, smelling like alcohol and misery, with the expensive pink nightgown making a lacy appearance underneath.

"Please sit," he said and pointed towards a table in an adjoining room. Haymitch had a hard time walking with Effie not cooperating. Seeing Seneca was a scare tactic and Effie had fallen for it easily. The death of the gamemaker didn't touch Haymitch as much as he felt it should. He had shared a few drinks with him and Effie whilst waiting for replies from sponsors. He had been a nice guy. Much like this new stylist, Cinna, he didn't seem to be all that caught up in the Capitol ecstaticness, which Effie and Portia expressed through their clothing and behaviour.

"I hear that you two are…" Snow motioned between them and Haymitch watched Effie blush through her panic.

"Now where would you go about hearing that?" Haymitch asked roughly. There was no use begging for their lives right now. If they'd killed Seneca and Seneca had been on the phone with their compartment while he was taken away, obviously trying to reach Effie and tell her that he'd let both the kids live for her sake, they were already as good as dead. In the Capitol's eyes she would have just as much fault in it as Seneca himself. And Haymitch would just be a witness to both deaths, not valuable enough to keep alive.

"You are a cold man, Abernathy, I would be insanely jealous if I were to force my wife into dating someone just to win the games," Effie looked up, the blue in her eyes looking like the ocean in stormy weather. This twisted info. He wasn't even sure if the president believed it. He knew very well that the apartments were bugged and someone surely had heard everything exchanged between Effie and himself, but had they mistaken it for some sort of code, when he urged her to say yes to Seneca's invitations? They must surely have heard the sex too, it wasn't like they could just … choose to listen to the important parts.

"Oh, Mr President, you have it completely wrong!" Effie suddenly said with a slight desperate giggle in her voice.

"Seneca and I were dating purely because my relationship with Mr Abernathy was … unsatisfying," she said. It was a slight lie, but it was a better description of it, than Haymitch could ever come up with. It hurt a bit though, the guilt. It was irrational, that it could sneak back up on him right now, but through the numbed fear and the growing anger it did. He felt guilty for not being able to give her what she wanted. Or just give in to the endless chances she'd given him. Too late now.

"Unsatisfying – oh dear, please do elaborate," Snow urged her.

"Well," Effie looked at Haymitch, who took her hand. Through the open door he imagined he could hear the rope of the noose creaking. Why play around like this?

"We just had sex, Snow, not much else," he snapped at the president, while squeezing Effie's hand so hard she tried wiggling free. It was a lie, but not a lie the president would be able to detect.

"I thought so," Snow said and leaned a bit back in the chair, his eyes narrowing to slits, "Take her out, I'll talk to them separately," he said and in less than a second it wasn't Haymitch clinging to Effie's hand, but reverse. She had no intentions of leaving. His heart beat a place near his throat. Was that tears on his face? Was this panic? Was this that same affection, which he wanted to get rid of, acting up? The need to protect the woman next to him? The need to show her that he could do just that?

Their hands were torn apart though. They took her back out the door they'd come through and Haymitch found himself alone with Snow and a few peacekeepers, standing silently beside the now closed door. A loud scream reached them through the door and Haymitch had to restrain himself with much intensity to not get up from the chair to help her or see what was going on.

"Don't worry, we're not going to kill her," Snow said calmly.

"Then why are you calling her in here?" Haymitch said without missing the fact that Snow never said anything about _his_ life.

"She won't step out of line again," Snow said shortly "In a few hours she will be aware of what happens when she does and when the little _princess_ wakes up in the morning with marks from today, she won't dare to upset _anyone_ again," he continued.

"That's sick, she has nothing to do with this, just like _I_ have nothing to do with this," Haymitch exclaimed. Tears? Again. Really? He didn't cry often, as it was a weakness. Weakness wasn't really what he wanted to show right now, but he had no control over the images his brain created faster than he had ever consciously created a fantasy.

"We're not going to kill you either, Abernathy, if I wanted to kill you I would have killed you 24 years ago,"

"What do you want?"

"Next year is the third quarter quell. Everdeen and Mellark are going back in. And they're not coming out, you understand me?"

Haymitch nodded silently.

"_If_ something goes … _wrong, _just remember I'm not going to kill _you,_" Snow whispered. Haymitch repeated his voiceless answer from before. It was either Katniss and Peeta or Effie. Understood. Another scream reached them from behind the door. The corners of Snow's artificially big lips creeped up into a disgusting smile.

* * *

"After next year, I'm not allowed to work with the games any longer," Effie said with her soundless voice. He could only hear her words because he was lying so close to her, trying to make her relax from her crying. It wasn't something he could just expect of her, though. He had walked in on her inspecting her almost naked body in the mirror after the day's dramatic events. There had been a lot of strategically places bruises, easily concealable by even flirtatious clothing, though he suspected she held some of the things they'd done to her back. There was a mark on her neck, a love bite, that gave most of it away, but when he mentioned it her eyes had begged for him to not bring it up while her lips had told him she didn't know how it got there.

"It'll be good for you," Haymitch said, stroking her hair continuously behind her ear.

"I won't have a dime," she said and stopped his hand twisting her hair, by putting her own shaking hand over it.

"I'll send you money, don't worry,"

"I don't want you to pity me,"

"Too late, princess,"

She mumbled something he didn't have the chance to hear.

"What did you say?"

"I wish I could just move to 12 with you," she said with a sudden clearness. She sounded hurt and confused as she said it. Like it was something she didn't really want him to know. Something he'd _forced_ out of her.

Those tears just wouldn't stay away today.

* * *

"God that's ugly," he commented on her really unflattering neon green pantsuit. He knew she was wearing it to avoid even the slightest chance of anyone seeing any of the still healing bruises. Paired with a high neck blouse in a deep magenta colour, she looked like someone growing in a radioactive flowerbed. She looked unnecessarily irritated by his comment. He liked that. Going back into the old grill. Not that he didn't care for her feelings or liked when she treated him tenderly, but the spunk when her eyes were on fire was what made him want her in the first place.

"You should look in the mirror," she snapped back and put the suitcase she'd been carrying on the floor in front of him.

"I packed for you," He was to take the first train home today. Katniss and Peeta were gone. He'd stayed an extra few days to make sure she was okay.

"Thanks mom," Haymitch said without looking up from his breakfast, which consisted more of the glass in front of him, than the inviting plate of eggs and ham.

"Have a good trip home, Haymitch," she said. He still didn't look up.

"I… I'll … miss you," he heard her say with a tiny insecure voice, fading more and more the closer she walked to the door. He shook his head as he heard the door close. Her talking about moving to twelve had left him way more affected than he liked to be and in the last few days he'd started drinking increasingly much to keep out the thoughts of the perfect happy life they would never be allowed to have. He looked at an avox silently waiting for orders in the corner and asked her to bring him a drink and a stack of paper. When his demands were met he took out a pen from his pocket.

_I love you._

He wrote on the paper. Then he folded the paper into a fragile paper crane and called the avox again. Told her to bring this to Effie Trinket's address. Keep it folded. Nobody ever unfolds a paper crane. And if she did, how would she know it was from him? It was nice telling her what he felt. In a twisted, anonymous and undeniably borderline stalker-ish kind of way. Still nice. It felt like a rope had been loosened around his heart, which now beat rapidly fast to match his breathing, which he realized had too increased in speed. He forced himself to take a deep breath and folded a couple more cranes after the avox had left. It calmed him a bit. He made sure to pour liquor over them, turning them into blobs before he left.

* * *

Half an hour later a car was waiting outside for him to take him to the station. The trip there was silent and swift. The train ride would be longer. He'd ridden the train alone plenty of times, but somehow he knew that this was going to be a tough one. As the train pulled out from the station he was staring absentmindedly out the window. A neon green colour somehow stood out amongst the other flashing colours on the busy station. He sighed. It wasn't her. He chugged down the rest of his drink and closed his eyes, sinking down into the chair. At least they would have the Victory tour soon. Then the Quell. Then nothing. After the Quell she wouldn't work on the Games anymore. And he would be forced to work on the Games forever, pretty much. Until another victor could take his place or he died. He had a slight suspicion the latter would come first.

Returning to twelve he found that things had changed. Two more houses in Victors Village were lit and beaming out heat and the solitude he had somehow expected and welcomed was broken. He was never to be alone again. Not for real. He met Peeta on his way to his house.

"You're only returning now? We thought you were hiding in your cellar or something," The young boy said. Haymitch looked at him with pain in his mind. This soul had to die before Effie could live. It wasn't really hard for Haymitch to choose, but it still hurt knowing.

"I had some unfinished business," Haymitch replied shortly.

"Come over for dinner tonight, eh?" Peeta asked as a line appeared between his eyebrows. Worry? Haymitch just nodded to get rid of the kid and go into his dark house. It smelled like crap. He didn't clean, hoping to die from the fumes one day.

* * *

How much should he tell the kids? Both everything and nothing seemed wise. Snow had their houses bugged, so he couldn't tell them, that they were going back in. He also couldn't tell them Seneca Crane was dead. 'Nothing' seemed more like it. They shouldn't have to worry. There was finally a moment of calmness in their lives and he wasn't about to take it away from them. He remembered this moment. This limbo of happiness: When he got home from his game undefeated. His mother's smile when she saw him. The first kiss from his girlfriend, like the first sip of water to a tired traveller. And then it was all gone. It only took a moment for the Capitol to swipe his family clean of the face of the earth. Only a moment to see the light in their eyes fade, when the peacekeepers shot them and towed away their bodies, like it was an everyday job. Only a moment for Effie Trinket to be beaten, whipped and abused into order, turned into a slave-puppet of the place he hated. Only a moment. The world turned upside down and he felt he was going to be sick. Not from drinking, but from the thoughts. They'd use her. They finally had something else than _his_ miserable life to use against him now. They had already used her. And it had already worked, he realized. How much hate could a human being feel? Was it normal for someone to feel like exploding into a million pieces in the hopes of hurting everyone around him? He threw a half empty bottle (half _full_, Haymitch, be a little _positive_, she'd say) across the room. It shattered. A sigh left him. He couldn't go to fucking dinner at Peeta's. What would he do? What would they talk about? He had nothing to talk about. Nothing that didn't hurt to talk about and if he had to take anymore pain in his life he would break, if he weren't already broken.

The next few days passed in a blur. He felt like he was sleep walking, which could very well be the case, though he didn't find himself sleeping. He woke up though, when an unknown sound pulled him out of the dirt and onto his feet. What was that? The ringing. Maybe it was just in his ears. In his head. He tried shaking his head and taking another sip of alcohol, but it didn't help. Then he realized. The phone. His goddamn phone was ringing. Where was the thing? He was too drunk to remember. The ringing stopped as he found it, placed nicely beside the empty bulletin board in the kitchen. He looked at the display. It lit up telling him some -number called him. The area code was 00, which obviously told him it was a call from the Capitol. He only knew one person who had any interest in calling him. As he feared the worst had happened and imagined all the horrible things that could have happened to her, the phone lit up again, ringing with the same way too frisky tone, which cut through his drunken hangover like a knife through melted butter. He fumbled and dropped the phone of surprise. Same number. He hurried to pick it up from the floor, not caring that it had landed in a pool of what seemed to be dried up vomit.

"It's me," he said breathlessly.

"Haymitch?" Hearing her voice almost killed him instantly. It hurt so bad, but felt so good at the same time.

"Yeah,"

"Are you okay? You sound… Like you've run a marathon,"

"Couldn't remember where the fucking phone was!" Haymitch said irritated.

"You're drinking a lot, aren't you?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he repeated, "God, Effie, this has really gone to shit, hasn't it?"

"I got myself a bunny," Effie said instead of answering his question, "I named him after you, because he's always sucking on his drinking bottle,"

Haymitch couldn't help but smile as he pictured her face on the other end of the line. Blushing. Maybe showing that slight gap between her front teeth in her smile.

"Maybe I should get an ugly cat and call it Effie, huh, princess?"

"Always a gentleman," she replied, "Look Haymitch… I'm coming next week for the victory tour, and I … I'm kind of… We need to talk when I get there,"

"He hasn't done anything to you, has he?" Haymitch said with a sour taste in his mouth.

"No, no! It's not nearly that, Haymitch, but I … I'd just be more comfortable talking with you in person," _Where no one can hear us. _He added that mentally, their phones were bugged, but he hardly cared. If anybody could threaten them more than they already had, it would surprise him.

"Haymitch, I-," she said

"I miss you too!" he blurted out. She laughed and he heard her rattle with something, which sounded like a piece of paper.

"Well… I won't waste all your time, so … I just wanted to know if you were-"

_Still alive, _he thought as she rambled on, obviously forgetting about not wasting his time. They were both _still alive_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **So here's another chapter, yet another. I think there's going to be maybe 4 more or something. I think I'll write a few chapters before posting anymore, because I really have to pick up some loose threads before some of the inconsistency gets out of hand, haha.

Hope you like it!

* * *

_H. You should destroy this letter thoroughly and immediately after reading it. My identity is not important to you as of this moment, but it will be clear in only a few days. I don't know which district this letter reaches you in, but I know you will have noticed the changes. They are here in the C. as well. Whispers have told me of your situation with E. and I have a proposal for you, considering this. We are planning to make this the last game. Sounds interesting? Meet up where it all started when the dinner is over._

This letter was given to him by a peacekeeper during the Victory Tour. Or at least someone dressed as a peacekeeper. He'd gone to the control room of the games after they'd finished dinner after the Victory Party. Plutarch had told him of the rebellion and mentioned a few names of the people he was thinking about inviting to this … exclusive club. Effie looked up at him after reading it. Her eyes flickering between him and for some reason the lamp. Perhaps she thought that was where the bug was situated. She sent him a look obviously questioning his motives. Haymitch nodded slightly to let her know his reply. She sighed, not content with that response. Their tense, silent conversation was broken by a loud swear from his hallway. A woman's voice.

"What's going on?" Effie mumbled and ran a hand through her hair, freezing halfway realizing she was wigless. It'd been a long day, Katniss trying on wedding dresses and for each dress, she'd felt more and more nauseous. It wasn't because Katniss didn't look beautiful in the dresses and hairstyles, the Capitol had voted for her. It was just the reminder that there was still somehow love in this stupid world and she was stuck in a limbo where she wasn't allowed to feel this herself.

"It's just Hazelle," Haymitch replied as the Seam woman came in. She was so unlike Effie in looks that both women stood still for a moment looking at each other.

"Sorry I dropped the mob – Oh … Hello Miss Trinket," she said her voice echoing the same accent that Haymitch spoke with, but with less kindness.

"Mrs Hawthorne," Effie said shortly with a voice that matched the coldest, harshest winters he'd ever experienced living here. Haymitch _had_ mentioned having Gale's mother as a housekeeper, so he didn't understand the sudden change in the escort's mood. He would've understood if there was just some strange woman coming into his house.

"You better get rid of this _trash_, Haymitch," Effie said and gave him the letter back though Haymitch suspected she didn't talk about the piece of paper at all. It _was_ undeniably a bit cute, but he also didn't want Effie to go for Hazelle's throat, no matter how nice it would feel to have that kind of recognition. He took her hand, as her blue eyes didn't leave Hazelle, who'd probably brushed off Effie's unpleasantness as a stereotypical Capitol trait, and started working on dinner.

"You didn't say she was pretty," Effie breathed the sentence out like he was never supposed to hear it. He looked at her with amusement while his hands left hers to rip up the letter.

"Doesn't take much compared to you, princess," he said and patted her cheek with the stack of pieces from the torn up paper, before he got up from his comfortable chair to throw them in the fire. Her felt her eyes burn through him as he walked closer to the woman intruding on her _property. _As an added bonus he decided to thank Hazelle for making them dinner as he watched the remains of the letter burning up. He heard Effie let out the biggest insulted sound he'd ever heard and her chair scrambled as she left the kitchen, heels clacking demonstratively loud as they made their way to the guest bedroom where she kept her things.

Haymitch smiled and left Hazelle to tend to the fire and start cleaning.

* * *

"Go away Haymitch," Effie said as soon as he stepped inside the bedroom. He couldn't help but laugh. He of course did not even consider doing what she asked him, instead he went up and wrapped his arms silently around her where she stood, her back turned to him looking out the window towards the Everdeen house, where the Capitol people still swarmed around packing up the final things.

"You go away, it's my house,"

"She _is_ really pretty," Effie said reluctantly.

"Hazelle is keeping my house because she wouldn't take Katniss' money. She's Gale's mother,"

"Katniss' cousin?" Effie asked.

"He's not her real cousin," Haymitch said with a slight chuckle in his voice, "More like part time lover,"

"And Hazelle?"

"Hazelle's my housekeeper, Effie," She turned towards him after his reply. She nodded and suddenly blushed.

"I'm sorry, I'm such a bitch, I … I should go apologize to her,"

"Hazelle is tough, she can take it," Haymitch said and kissed her, leaving her without a chance to insist. He gently took her hands and pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck, inhaling her scent and tasting her skin. She answered his endearments by digging her nails into the back of his neck, while he allowed himself to release her from the green blouse she was wearing. Letting his hands slip under the open blouse he didn't let his lips leave her skin for a moment. He made half a pirouette with her, so she now stood with her back to the guest bed, which hadn't been used … ever. A slight push sent her out of his embrace and down onto the bed. She was quick to pull him along though and soon the bed could never be described as 'unused' again. It wasn't hard to notice the vast difference between the way too rough fucking when their relationship started to the passionate love making they could get away with now. It lasted longer too.

"Oh God, Haymitch!" she screamed and hit her tiny clenched fist into the bedframe. Her breathing almost stopped for a second and she tightened her every grip on him. He didn't last long after that.

"Shit, princess,"

"Hazelle's still downstairs isn't she?" Effie suddenly burst out between her heavy breathing. Her damp body lay beside him still allowing him to touch her wherever he wanted, but this comment made him stop everything. Poor Hazelle.

"For her sake, I hope she went away when you tried killing her with your eyes, nobody should have to listen to _that,_" he laughed. No matter what, it felt good to not think about all the troubles and the oncoming rebellion. Not thinking about the games or the deaths it had caused.

"I did _not_-"

"Sshh… Let's get dressed," Haymitch said with a smirk, "If we're lucky you could look decent in only a couple of hours,"

"You broke two buttons of my blouse,"

"I guess you'll have to go naked then,"

"I'm _not_ going to go into _your_ kitchen naked, no matter how good of a job that woman does on your house keeping it would still be a health hazard, I'm not even sure if I should be naked around _you,_" Effie snapped at him, but she didn't manage to keep the silly smile of her face to back up the pretend-seriousness she tried to put into her voice. _That woman. _Still a bit jealous. Haymitch snorted. What was a man to do to convince this frantic woman of her exclusive right to his heart?

"Yet here you are princess, so how's that plan working?" She punched him and got out of the bed looking for something to wear. He stayed put observing her. Maybe this rebellion could give him the chance to offer her safety. But it would be a long road and Effie was probably very opposed to the thought of a revolution. There was still a slight chance though and when in a situation like his, why not take it?

* * *

"But what if I draw _your_ name," Effie asked frightened. She'd been delighted to see the nice photos from Katniss' shoots, but when the Quell was announced her smile had crumbled into nothing. They had of course known that Katniss and Peeta were somehow getting back into the arena. That had been Snow's plan all along. This made no sense. There was a fifty-fifty chance for Peeta or Haymitch to go back in. Katniss was a no-brainer.

"I don't know, Eff," Haymitch answered truthfully.

"I'm not going to do it," she said resolutely.

"You're not going to _not_ do it, princess,"

"Haymitch, I don't know what I'm going to do if I draw your name," she said. His house was completely silent for a few moments save for the creaking of wood stretching to accommodate the stress put on it. He sometimes felt he was part of the house, settled into it only to be ripped out once a year to go to the Capitol. Never getting a chance to settle properly along the other wood.

"You're going to read it out loud and lead me to where the tributes say goodbye," Haymitch said with slight irony, "Then we go on the train and Peeta tells us to stay alive and you watch both Katniss and me die. Just like always,"

"You're a bastard,"

"Yeah," Haymitch said. Normally he would have said something back to her, but he shared her fear. Going back into the arena would mean that the tiny bit of hope, he'd allowed himself to feel last night would be gone before it had even found a place to grow. Going back in would mean he had to kill people again. He thought about it. There was a chance he could win, but if he did he would never be able to look at himself in the mirror again. There were already 47 deaths on his conscience, plus the added tributes who'd died in front of him and of course his family. Come to think of it, would another 23 crush him or just add to the bottomless pit of sorrow inside him. She seemed to be reading his thoughts.

"Could you win?" she said it so coldly she reminded him of himself. Right now she wasn't a woman crying for the eminent loss of her lover, but a woman planning a strategy for an almost impossible game. _They're still as stupid._ His opponents were not stupid this time, but some of them would be old. But so was he. He wasn't the snarky 16-year old anymore. The Careers would still be Careers and some of them were probably _lusting_ to get back into a fight. The slight confidence from before left him.

"No, probably not princess," She nodded silently. Her face was turned towards the screen, but Haymitch was sure she was crying.

"It's for the better, even if you pull out Peeta's name I should volunteer," Haymitch started.

"No!" Effie almost yelled the word out in blinding anger, "You're not leaving me! I won't let you!"

"I'm old… Peeta should have the chance to live his life,"

"So should you. You just haven't started yours yet,"

Haymitch let out a sigh. The weakness Effie showed physically was always compensated by her stubbornness.

"You _could_ win, Haymitch,"

* * *

He could barely breathe after the run Katniss and Peeta had forced him out on. He stood leaned against the back wall of his house, while Katniss darted past him and shot a target with her bow at the exactly right moment, without losing much momentum. No, he was definitely not ready for the Games, but then again last time it wasn't his lacking physical skills that had saved him, but his wits. Trouble was that it still wasn't a pack of stupid kids he would be facing this time. A loud crash sounded as Peeta had thrown a large rock at the same target, where Katniss' arrow had hit. He couldn't help but feel that the rock hit _him. _

"Haymitch can I talk to you?" Peeta asked as Katniss continued shooting for the targets. She didn't seem to notice anything around her and Haymitch couldn't help but admire her skill and dedication to the art.

"Now?" Haymitch asked. He owed Peeta a lot, for even though Katniss and him never came further than a mutual acceptance of what he thought of as an alliance, Peeta had helped him with a lot of things, both during the games and after. It was Peeta who'd wiped off his vomit when Effie was too mad to even care about him. It was Peeta who'd snuck in a bottle of whiskey to him on the Victory Tour and told him thanks. Sometimes Peeta was the only one who seemed to completely understand him.

The baker nodded and Haymitch followed him to the other side of the house to sit down on the edge of the patio.

"What's with our escort?" Peeta started.

"What?"

"Effie. She called our house last night, because she was _worried_ she couldn't get a hold of you,"

"What, why?"

"She said she'd tried calling you several times, the phone went dead after about a minute,"

Haymitch let out a chuckle when he realized. The Capitol must have cut the connection, so she could get scared. So none of them could exchange soothing words to each other before the reaping tomorrow. Not that they did such things very often, as they both knew it wasn't going to end well. There was no use in lying about it. He shook his head though, to drown out any thoughts the boy might have.

"It's not like it isn't _obvious_ Haymitch," Peeta assured him.

Haymitch ran his tongue over his teeth picking at a piece of carrot stuck there before he spoke:

"Effie and I are in a bit of a twist. I can't explain it to you, but … You and Katniss weren't exactly the only ones to suffer the consequences of both of you winning," he said in a low voice, though the methodical thumbs from the other side of the house told him that Katniss hadn't left her spot in front of the target. His heartbeat almost matched the rapid pace she shot the arrows in.

"She looked so tired at the photo shoot," Peeta said.

"She nearly killed Hazelle too," Haymitch added.

"Huh?"

"Never mind,"

"What's going on Haymitch?"

"Well, right now she's probably dead scared that she's going to reap my name," Haymitch said.

"That shouldn't be a problem, I'm volunteering for you if she does," Peeta said without missing a single beat.

"No, Peeta," Haymitch said and leaned his head back, "No, listen… It's better if you just,"

"I'm not going to let you in there with Katniss,"

"You don't trust me, do you?" Haymitch asked and looked back at the boy with wonder.

"I trust that you want to survive just as much as many of the others," Peeta said shortly.

"Well you certainly have me figured out, haven't you?" He couldn't help but getting a bit angry with the boy, basically sitting there almost accusing him of killing Katniss. That Katniss and him had an agreement on getting Peeta out alive this time wasn't relevant – he wouldn't kill her. And if the plan Plutarch and him were working on went as arranged …

"No I don't, that's what I'm afraid of," Peeta said calmly "But I know you well enough to know that if you have something to fight for, you don't care about the fight you're picking,"

"And you think I have something to fight for?"

"Which brings us _back_ to the little Capitol lady calling our house in despair," Peeta sighed and looked at him with eyes filled with sorrow and determination. Haymitch couldn't stand looking back, so he focused on his dirty fingernails instead, trying to make sense of what Peeta wanted him to do – or more so how he could find a compromise, that sounded fair to the boy, but mostly valued his own interests.

* * *

It was rushed. The whole thing, but it still made room enough to torture her Haymitch thought as Effie climbed the stage, staggering across to get to the microphone and the reaping balls. She had said his name in many ways in the past. Lovingly, tenderly when she kissed him and calmed him down after nightmares. Mockingly when she had the upper hand in a situation, him lying on the bathroom floor vomiting up what felt like his very intestines. She had yelled it out in anger when he'd taken an insult too far or hissed it in irritation when he burped at the table. There was even times when she had screamed it in passion as their bodies became one. But he had never heard her say it like this. He hadn't even heard a person ever speak like this before and he couldn't decide if she had consciously drained her voice for emotions – all emotions, or if he just couldn't figure out what sort of emotion she was expressing when she stumbled over the words.

It was gone in a flash though as Peeta loudly yelled that he volunteered and Haymitch saw her – along with the rest of Panem – take a deep breath of relief. He could have slapped her. Didn't she see how all of this was wrong? She was just thinking about herself when she almost _celebrated_ a young boy basically giving his life to save this old drunk, who could barely dress himself decently for a reaping. Maybe it was the lack of alcohol, but he suddenly couldn't stand looking at her. Why did he ever fall for her? This creature, standing there as a foreign object in the starved district, probably full on coffee and bread rolls from her breakfast on the train getting ready to fall back into the role of escort whenever the Capitol wanted her to. He despised her. He hated her. Her eyes locked with his and the rage he was building up inside disappeared instantly. She wasn't happy, she just smiled. There was not much else to do. Haymitch could have kicked himself. She wasn't supposed to understand all the things she already understood about the districts. She was probably already swaying on the edge of where Snow found it permissible. A light shake of her head sent him on his way towards her as the people around him started breaking up and leaving the square. Peeta, Katniss and himself were taken directly to the train, no goodbyes. There was not much left. He grabbed her hand to reassure himself about the fact that what he wrote on that paper crane last year was true and the well known feeling of heart flutter did little to disprove him.

"You have to do it, Haymitch," she said in a whisper as they stepped closer to the train "you can save them again,"

It took him a moment to understand what she was talking about. The rebellion. Effie Trinket. Not something he thought would ever mix. He nodded at her and placed a hand on the small of her back as he guided her up the steps and into the train.

"Thank you," he whispered back at her, casually walking past her to the bar. Sobriety was overrated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **This is probably a bit extreme in the plot-twist department and I actually considered not adding this to _this_ story, but I have some stuff planned out and I think it'll tie up nicely in the end. :)

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"It's locked,"

"Are you sure? Try again, Haymitch," Effie urged him and pulled her cardigan tighter around her. She was a bit tipsy and standing on the tall heels had been easier. It'd been a bet. Another game. Haymitch had as usual won. Or she'd let him, he wasn't sure. It had ended up with a night out anyway and though she had drunk quite a considerable amount of alcohol, _he_ had actually held back, because they weren't drinking to drown out anything, just to have fun. Which had resulted in him standing here semi-sober and painfully clearly locked out of the building where their apartments and training and everything was located. What time was it? Did they lock it after a certain time? You needed a code to get in and out and only authorized personnel had the clearance to have that code, but most of the escorts knew it anyway because half of them slept around with any _authorized personnel_ and the other half just annoyed someone with having to get out so many times that they at some point just _got_ the code. Haymitch had a feeling Effie belonged in the last group. Trouble was that the keypad to enter that code on was behind this locked door.

"I'm trying, princess, it ain't opening, haven't you got the key?"

"Who do you think I am? President Snow?"

"Can't you call someone?"

"Who do you want to call in the middle of the night?

"Anyone, God damnit woman,"

"What about we just take a cap to my place?" Effie sighed.

"Your place? You have _a place?_" Haymitch asked. For some reason he'd always expected her to live with her parents or something. Or at least not alone. This bubbly person living a reclusive life everything but a few weeks a year seemed so wrong to him.

"I have a flat, do you think I live in this building always?" Effie laughed. The alcohol had set her a little free and the usual manners or her gift of finding hidden insults was gone, which had been quite hilarious in the start, but after a while her ability to spot sarcasm went down like a plane crash and how was he supposed to talk to her, if she took it serious when he called her ugly?

"Alright, then take us there," Haymitch gave up trying to beat through the door. It was of no use anyway, as it was 'tribute safe', which meant that if it was locked, it stayed locked. Couldn't have those frightened district children running around the Capitol.

"You can meet Haymitch then," she said and giggled slightly.

"Haymitch?" Haymitch asked.

"My bunny," Oh yeah. Who was he ever to think she lived alone. She had a _bunny._ Haymitch hated those kinds of animals. Cute and adorable. But useless. Much like her, he thought, though it would be kind of harsh to call Effie Trinket useless after her many cover-ups for him, while he went to the rebel meetings. She didn't want to be part of the revolution herself, but as a good girl she always had an excuse for where he was if anyone cared to ask. Haymitch could feel that she was scared, scared of what might happen to her or him or her city. With good cause too. If Haymitch had been more in charge than he was, he would have overthrown the Capitol completely. Bunnies as well as people.

* * *

"He's cute," Haymitch reluctantly said as he absentmindedly stroked the fine brown spotted fur of the tiny bunny. Effie kept it in a large cage in her apartment, which didn't seem much larger than the cage itself. Only two rooms and a bathroom. The kitchen was shared with other people from the apartment complex, but she told him she rarely cooked food. She usually just bought food that could be eaten without preparation. She told him she didn't like talking to the people from the other apartments. Another fact that he couldn't quite wrap his head around – he'd have thought she was the first to form a cooking group in a place like this.

"Actually it's a she, but I only found out after I named her," Effie said blushing while she put a cup of strong smelling coffee in front of him. Instant coffee, he thought. She used too much powder. There was no use in going to bed, seeing as it was soon 6 in the morning and they had to be at the training centre by nine.

"You named a girl-bunny after me?" Haymitch asked and tried holding his laugh back.

"Well…" Effie obviously tried to find something to snap back at him. She was blushing.

"Well what?" He asked but she never replied. Jut let the bunny hop across the small table in the middle of the living area. Though a lot of her stuff seemed old and very used, it was clean and well kept, so it surprised Haymitch that she would let this little creature just stroll about wherever it wanted. She lifted it up and sat down on the floor with it. She seemed so much more safe here than she did when she was with him other places. He leaned back in her couch, just regarding her silently as she mumbled sweet words to the stupid rabbit. He had a hard time getting his eyes to leave her, but at some point he scanned the entire room. It was much more personal than he'd expected her to live. She rarely talked about her interests in front of anyone, unless they specifically asked, but here she had pictures on the walls, posters and small trinkets from a life, he realized he'd never heard about. He saw it too, the crane. On one of the inner folds he could see his own ugly handwriting spelling the letters _OU. _Standing on the middle of an otherwise empty shelf looking out over the room, a silent guardian as fragile as its owner. He remembered how he felt when he'd folded that. Wondered if she even knew it was from him. She probably did. She seemed to know everything about _him. _She had never opened it, it seemed. But then again, who would open a paper crane? She was too proper to do it. She would never disturb the wholesomeness of a origami bird.

"Effie why do you never talk?" he blurted out and quickly picked up the way too strong coffee to mask it as an icebreaker question.

"Talk?" she looked up from the bunny, which was now nibbling on some feeding pellets from her pale hand, "You usually tell me to shut up all the time,"

"You don't talk about yourself," Haymitch said led on by the fleck of sadness in her eyes, just before she looked away from him.

"What should I talk about?" Effie asked and turned her attention back to her pet, stroking the fur manically.

"You. You never mention your family or what you like, I don't even know what your full name is and we've worked together for … how many years?"

"Euphemia Trinket, you know that," she said and dodged the real question with perfection.

"Come on, _Euphemia_," Haymitch urged her.

"_Haymitch,_ I don't exactly lead the most interesting life, alright?" she looked back up at him with a fiery look.

"Compare your life to mine. I drink the days I'm not with you away," He didn't really know why it was suddenly so important to him to know about her. There was something tucked underneath that wig and those clothes that didn't make sense. How could a woman, who talked so much say so little? How could she adorn her apartment with tokens and memories and never speak of them, just look and silently fulfil her duties without ever mixing _anything_ private into it?

"I guess it's pretty equal then," she said meeting his gaze with hers, begging him to stop this little interrogation he had going on.

"Family?" he asked.

"Mum and dad," she replied shortly.

"Where?"

"Haymitch…"

"Is this about your parents?"

"Shut up!" She was on her feet so fast he never even saw the motion of her getting up, too stunned by her hard words. Her movements were gentle though, as she placed bunny-Haymitch into the cage and then just stood there.

"You know where _my_ family went, princess," Haymitch said softly trying to calm her down.

"Both your parents are district 12 right?"

"Were. Yes,"

"Well, Haymitch if you have to know, the Capitol doesn't usually like halflings," she said. Haymitch raised an eyebrow and helped himself to another sip of the coffee.

"My dad isn't from here," Effie whispered, "My dad is a victor from district 10,"

"Have you ever met him?" Haymitch said too bluntly for his own liking.

"No, I don't even know his name," Effie replied and sat on the couch beside him.

"That's why I joined the games in the first place. My mum would never tell me who he was, she was so ashamed of me, and I guess of herself," Effie continued silently.

"So you didn't do it to get all the honour and screen time you're always coughing up about?"

"Look around, Haymitch, do you see a TV in here? I didn't even watch the games back when I didn't work with them,"

"I'm sorry," And he was. Genuinely.

She placed her head on his shoulder and looked hazed out into the room. The alcohol had worn off while they were here – well, she had to throw up a bit when they first got here, but it was all well now.

"Nah, I mistook you, Trinks," Haymitch wrapped an arm around her shoulder, suddenly conscious of every time he'd yelled something along the lines of '_Go home to daddy and cry, because the real men are out here,' _at her. She had the blood of a victor running through her veins and it made him feel even more attached to her in some kind of way.

"I should have told you sooner,"

"You didn't even have to tell me now, but … what was your plan exactly with becoming an escort?"

"I hoped to get bumped to 10, then ask around. I don't know…" Effie shook her head "You must think I'm dumb,"

"Yeah a bit," Haymitch laughed. She didn't have a plan. Not the slightest clue and she had formed her entire life around it. It was so unlike her usual manic obsession with schedules and plans, that it sounded, well, dumb. She repeated the shake of her head and smiled. Suddenly she was laughing as well. The tension between them went away and they lost themselves into a kiss. Just a kiss, nothing more. Soothing and warm and full of all the things an innocent kiss should be full of. Love.

She fell asleep, though they'd promised each other not to. He enjoyed it, watching her sleep. There was so peaceful in her little flat that he couldn't blame her for sleeping. He gently let her head of his shoulder and found a horrid pink blanket to put over her. And there he was – almost alone in Effie Trinket's apartment, save for her bunny. He could do anything he wanted in here as long as he was quiet. In the past he might have enjoyed invading her privacy, but right now he just felt dirty. He looked down at the bunny. It was drinking from the water bottle just liked she'd described over the phone.

"What do you reckon Haymitch? We've got to be there in 45 minutes," He sat down and stuck his hand down into the cage, stroking the fur once again. It really _did_ have a calming effect. He was overcome by sleepiness. Somehow it worried him that it happened so fast, he wasn't usually a heavy sleeper. He managed to drag himself to the couch where she was already sleeping and with his back propped up against the armrest where her head lay, he too fell asleep.

* * *

"It's just interviews, they went through that whole let's-walk-in-heels-party last year," Haymitch said and rolled his eyes while she was dressing so rapidly he only saw her as a blur of colours. He kind of liked when she rushed with her appearance, because when she did she didn't have as much time to make herself unrecognizable. Through the opening to what he presumed was her bedroom he could see an arrangement of different wigs, some of them he could remember from previous years of games, some of them new. He wondered how she slept soundly with all those empty eyes of the Styrofoam wig heads looking at her.

"Haymitch, it's not _just_ interviews…"

"What would you teach them?"

"I had planned for them to learn how to speak properly, you know breathing exercises,"

"Breathing exercises? Really?" Haymitch asked and ran a hand through his hair, "Why don't you come here instead?"

"You sound like a bad late night movie,"

"I thought you didn't own a TV,"

"Well, I haven't lived here forever, have I?"

"I don't know,"

"Haymitch why aren't you wearing your jacket yet? We've got to go," she hissed at him and threw the jacket towards his face. He caught it, cheating her for the pleasure of the painful groan she surely suspected once the thick leather hit his face.

"I like you like that," he said.

"Like what? Mad?"

"No no, I'm talking 'bout your looks for once princess,"

She blushed staring down at the white blouse paired with a deep red skirt. Loosely fitted and casual. As much as he liked seeing her body embraced by wondrous fabric, this was how she always came to him in dreams. This was how he remembered her when he was alone.

"Thank you, Haymitch, that's really kind of you," She blushed while she said it.

"If you could get rid of that stupid wig it'd be even prettier,"

"Here we go again," She rolled her eyes and clicked her heels a few times, while he took his time putting on the jacket "Come on, we're going to miss half the day if you're going to be so slow,"

"Calm down, princess," Haymitch said, but hurried up a bit not to make her too mad from the start. He had plenty of time for that.

"Wait, where's Haymitch?" Effie asked and walked back towards the cage. Haymitch, who still hadn't gotten used to sharing a first name with a bunny, looked confused at her until his confusion was blown away by an agonizing scream.

"What the hell?" Haymitch ran the four steps towards her and stared down into the hay, now drenched with blood. It was obvious someone had killed the tiny creature, for there was no chance it could have done this to itself. Next to it, also spotted with blood from the rodent was a folder. One of those instant-print photos was pinned to it. Haymitch felt his stomach churn. It was from this morning, them sleeping. Not the most flattering picture of any of them, but more so a reminder that the intruder had been so close to them. Haymitch felt her bury her face into his chest and he couldn't really do anything but embrace her and try to figure out what this meant. He placed her on the sofa and pulled down his sleeve to cover his hand as he tried not to touch the corpse of the bunny while taking out the folder. It had a capitol seal and when he with shaking hands removed the picture on the front he saw that there was a message scribbled on it:

_Watch your mouth, Euphemia._

_Your blood is just as easy to spill. _

_Say goodbye to daddy. _

He didn't show her this. She was already crying like she was whipped. Didn't need the scare. He opened the folder and the first thing that met him was a picture he instantly recognized. Not because he'd seen the man himself before, but because it was undoubtedly Effie Trinket's father.

* * *

"Is that him?" Effie asked in a whisper. Haymitch replied by squeezing her hand. She knew the answer. It was the only male from 10 in the Capitol save for the mentor, who was considerable younger than Effie. This _was_ him. She would never get to see him again nor would she ever get to talk to him. The closest she would ever come to her father was here, row 12 sitting with Haymitch on one side and an unknowing Octavia on the other. He looked like her, a lot. It wasn't like staring at an older male version of Effie Trinket, but when you knew they were related it was easy enough to see. From the deep blue eyes and the curved nose to the long slightly lanky fingers, hers now interlaced with his in a grasp so tight he feared she would cut of circulation to his hand. Not that he cared. Her eyes were set on the 67 year old man walking across stage. Her mother must have been one of the last to buy him, Haymitch thought, but quickly discouraged himself from the thought. Caesar started talking, but Haymitch couldn't really listen to anything but the supressed sounds of crying from his side, as she clung – if possible – tighter and tighter to his hand.

"This place has no mercy. The people here have no mercy. I despise you all," Daire Littleton, 67, district 10 said.

And by that Effie Trinket broke. She hurled forwards in her seat, disguising her breakdown by almost putting her head between her knees. Octavia looked at Haymitch who almost panicked as much as the next person. She never made a sound, but she shook so the entire row of chairs shook with her. Haymitch considered getting her out of there, but it was of no use. Some kind of camera would be turned against them and it would mean another punishment for them. Possibly something worse than the death of a bunny. No, they just had to ride this one out. He bend over, his bones aching in his worn body to get into a position that resembled hers. She'd covered her ears with her hands, but he still tried mumbling soothing words to her. They wouldn't be noticed, not in this crowd, not if she contained the scream of despair, which was most clearly stuck in her throat.

"He would hate me if he knew me, Haymitch," he heard her whisper in utter sadness.

"No. No, if he knew _you_ he'd make an exception," Haymitch pulled out a handkerchief and handed it awkwardly to her. Her make-up was a mess, but if he knew her well she would be able to save it.

"He's going to die," she whimpered. There wasn't much he could say about this. It was true. He'd tried talking to Plutarch earlier that day but he had declined his proposal to have the elderly victor from 10 added to the list of allies. There were no ties to him, he said. There was no real reason to have him. He'd won using his knowledge as a butcher back then, coldly murdering everyone like they were nothing but cattle. Though he was from an outline district his mind was that of a career, Plutarch had said. Haymitch couldn't really tell the game maker what reasons he had for keeping Daire Littleton alive, so he'd left it at that. Besides something in him did not want this man to become part of Effie's life. It was a gnawing monster on his insides that allowed him to feel jealousy seeping through the sympathy he had for her. He knew she sometimes found his possessiveness overwhelming, but in the end he was really just scared she'd run of with some other guy. Trying to get her to date Seneca Crane had made that very clear to him. His entire being knew she would be better off without him, but something underneath that _entire being_ couldn't let go, even if she wanted to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **_I'm sorry for being such a slow updater! I had a really busy weekend and I haven't really been in the mood to write. I don't know if this chapter is really that good, you decide. I think I'll soon wrap this story up, but I have to do it the right way, so maybe 3-4 chapters more? I don't know... _

* * *

Something died with that stupid bunny. Something inside her, her usual friskiness. She rarely talked back to him when he teased her the next few days, but she seemed even more confused and hurt when he tried with tender words or touches. The sex they tried to have one day was so miserable he couldn't even finish. He tried to blame it on the fact that she was already grieving her fathers dead in advance, but there was more than that stuck underneath, he just preferred not to think about it, for he feared he would not be able to understand. Often she would speak of death with him, but not in the way, that implied she was losing a loved one, but more so in the way that implied she was scared of losing herself. She asked him if he believed in heaven, if she would go there (she didn't have much hope for this herself). She asked him if he thought death would hurt (how was he supposed to answer that?). She even asked him if he thought it strange that she had bought a dress to wear to her own funeral (he did, but he didn't tell her). She left the normal fast pacing world and withdraw to her own thoughts so often he wondered if she sometimes just sat there at dinner and slept. Not even when Katniss informed them she had hung a dummy of Seneca Crane did she get mad. She just shook her head and mumbled about training scores and how Katniss shouldn't even know the former game maker was dead. Then she excused herself from the table. When he saw her later that evening she had been crying, but she had been so often now it wasn't really anything he noticed. No, he noticed something else, her hands: Shaking, trembling like they were trying to detach themselves from her body. She obviously tried stopping herself, but no matter how hard she intertwined her fingers they wouldn't stop dancing. Those long lanky fingers of her father. Haymitch tried taking her hand, but she flinched from him and shook her head as if to say _'I'm sorry'. _That night they had awkward, depressing sex and Haymitch felt worse afterwards than he felt after watching children _die_ on TV. This wasn't her. This wasn't her usual sadness, for he had dealt with her sadness before – she reacted strongly to a lot of things. But she was quick to pull herself out of the misery before it became too much. He realized he had never met a human being so solitary as her, not even himself. He knew he could call several people from the hob that would help him in need of assistance, but she… She would call _him _even with so many miles between them, because she had _no idea_ who else to call. Funny thing, for she seemed so good with people. The comments about how she disliked cooking in the shared kitchen to avoid her neighbours. How she bought herself a pet to have something to talk to. How she would again and again only rely on herself to get out of the darkness. This time it seemed impossible, she wasn't coming back. He slept with her every night, but there were days where she could barely leave her bed, where roles reversed and he was the one to pull _her_ out of bed. If there was a positive side to this, he almost stopped drinking. Not purposely, but still gradually he started taking water instead of wine, knowing he would have to tend to her if she cried in her sleep. Knowing he wouldn't forgive himself if he as often before passed out drunk and she needed him. He practically took over her job without complaining. He wanted to keep a strong appearance, not for her, but for the public. Last time they let their guards down and shared secrets her bunny died and she was granted a father on death row and he was very inclined not to make anything of that sort happen again. Not while he was still here anyway. He wished he could talk to her about the rebellion, about 13, about the plan to help the selected Victors out of the arena, but he couldn't. Not that he wasn't allowed to, Effie knew more than a lot of people about what went on behind the closed door at the control room, but she was never in a physical position safe enough for him to tell. And she never _ever_ asked. Like she was frightened to hear his replies. Would he take her to 13? He still hadn't made up his mind about that one, but he was leaning towards no. If she were left behind here she wouldn't be in much danger, as she was probably really low priority. If she was caught in a crossfire in 13 and the Capitol got her she would be treated as a traitor and probably sentenced to death. Death. The only thing that seemed to be reoccurring in their relationship. The sound of canons as their tributes had died year after year had become their metronome. And it only started a faster rhythm as Seneca was killed for gifting her with Victors (she had never stopped feeling guilty about his death, something that seemed to stick deeper than survivors guilt – Haymitch sometimes felt borderline jealous of the grieving she did for Seneca) picking up the pace even more when they were threatened themselves. Now there wasn't much rhythm to it as they both lingered in an endless hole of pure fear for what would happen to the other and how they would – if necessary – say goodbye when time came.

* * *

"Really I'm just a side effect," Effie said as the first canons started to go off after the bloodbath. Haymitch shouldn't be here, he should be with Plutarch discussing further events, but he found himself frozen to the couch with her head on his shoulder.

"My mother wanted recognition and fame – having a victor as a lover, having this _district man_ treat you like there was no one else in the world,"

Haymitch stroked her hair a bit. He had been too dangerous to sell back then, but the status as a victor had given him plenty of free invites to beds of women seeking the exact same thing as Effie's mom. The Capitol owned its victors, but he was slowly beginning to realize they owned their own citizens too. Effie was caught between the two groups, but was equally the possession of her city.

"It's _one_ side effect I wouldn't ever want to get rid of," he mumbled and jerked to see if anyone of interest had been lost in the bloodbath. He could tell that she wanted to ask him something, but couldn't.

"They didn't sell you," she said instead.

"No, guess I wasn't handsome enough," Haymitch laughed.

"You _were _pretty handsome, well… You are, it's not that, you're … not now,"

"You trying to be nice to me, princess?"

"I owe you," she blushed deeply as he pulled her closer to him.

"You're the pretty one, princess, and you won't hear me say this again, but I think you got enough pretty for both of us," He felt himself blush a bit with her, but after a swig of the bottle he didn't even regret saying it. Turning back to drinking had been the best relief he'd ever felt. He tried sobering up to help the tributes, but the nightmares and withdrawal made him turn to the bottle again. She never really said anything about it.

"Th-Thank you Haymitch, but if you don't mind me asking… Why are you suddenly saying things like that?"

"Am I not allowed to?"

"It's just very … Unlike you,"

_I might not have the chance to tell you again, _he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry," he said instead. Weak. He was weak. Maybe he _was_ intelligent, but mostly it was just luck and his own weakness making the decisions for him.

* * *

"But what? No, I will not let _you_ die as well just because of some stupid thing!" Effie yelled when he told her Cinna had died for their cause and he understood the man's actions. She hadn't taken it lightly. Of course she was shaken by the death of such a dear friend to her, but he felt it was more about the fact that she knew he was part of the same thing.

"Effie, hush," he warned her.

"No, Haymitch! They can take me if they want to, I don't even care. You and your stupid secrets, your stupid alcohol, I can't take it!"

"Princess, please," He had been begging her the last ten minutes to just shut up. He tried with hard words at first, but she seemed so used to them, they just bounced right of her.

"Don't call me that! Don't even call me anything! I thought…"

"You thought what?"

She turned around, letting her slightly shaking back be the only part of her visible.

"I thought y-you … Lo-" She interrupted herself: "Why must you be so confusing?"

"Says you?" Haymitch asked sighing resignedly.

"I'm not confusing, you're just no good at understanding me,"

"I'll drink to that, princess,"

"You'll drink to anything," she shook her head in disbelief and turned back towards him, flushed with anger and disappointment.

"Effie… I would-"

"I can't listen to you right now, he's _dead_ Haymitch, and you're just making jokes," Effie looked at him. Suddenly her eyes widened.

"Do you think – do you think we … We caused it? Like with Haymitch?" she asked. That fucking bunny, back to haunting him, though she _did_ make a valid point. Cinna was a mutual friend and colleague. He was the perfect way of hitting them both. And Haymitch _had_ been going to meetings with Plutarch a lot lately. It could be their fault, but then again… Cinna might have cared about his own life in a way Haymitch didn't. Cinna surely had something or someone threatening him as well as they had. Maybe they'd used his own life against him as opposed to Haymitch clinging to the hope that they wouldn't hurt the escort.

"No, Effie… No, Cinna brought it on himself, he died to stick it to them," Haymitch ended up saying.

"You'll die, Haymitch, if you continue this way,"

"So will you, princess, so as a long time mentor for the Games I advise you to shut up," He ran a hand down his face and looked away from her. It hurt when she slammed the door, but a stab of relief spread in him when he realized he didn't have to deal with her anymore. When he realized there would be no more of her words for the bugs to pick up. For her to pay for in some creatively gruesome way.

* * *

"We're going to have _fun_, Effie,"

"I don't want to drink with you," she hissed and resisted the grab around her waist. He was easily stronger than her, so she had no choice but to follow him towards the door.

"No, we're not going to drink," he promised.

"I'm mad at you Haymitch," she pointed out with the beginning smile on her face deceiving her.

"Yes yes, but you usually are, so," Haymitch kissed her tenderly and stopped his dragging for a bit to embrace her. He would soon be going, he wanted a perfect night. That kind of thing he should have done for her long ago. The romantic crap she always talked about when she had a drink too much and clung to him in bed. Rose petals, champagne, chocolate and heart shaped balloons and that kind of thing. Haymitch had never done one single romantic thing in his life, but he believed he'd thought up a pretty good plan for this. There was not much space for romance in the coal-mining district, but here in the Capitol it blossomed on every corner, even though the corners were made of pure granite.

"So what?!" Effie asked and gave up trying to stop him doing what he wanted.

"So today I'll try to be nice," Haymitch said and opened the door.

"Last time you took me out we ended up locked out,"

"I have a plan for that, just… Just go with me, will you?"

"Alright Haymitch, but don't you need someone to watch the kids?" She motioned back towards the screen showing their tributes preparing something on the beach along their group of allies.

"Some of the other mentors are looking, come on," Haymitch felt like a little boy begging his mother to come see something he made, for he _was_ quite proud of the 'romantic' thing he had running.

"Do I need to change?" Effie asked and he stared at her with irritation.

"You look perfectly fine, why would you need to change?"

"It's not exactly evening wear,"

"Don't worry about it," Haymitch grinned at her after his sentence. Where they were going, evening wear was probably not the best idea.

* * *

"You're _not_ taking me here…" Effie said with pure horror in her voice when she saw the colourful neon lights from the amusement park the cap Haymitch ordered stopped at.

"Of course I am princess, but not just yet," He smirked and pulled her out of the car, his excitement showing clearly through his usual bitterness and maybe just that shot of adrenaline that ran through his veins as an effect of the overwhelming nervousness he felt at doing something like this.

"Haymitch, I …" She never finished her sentence because soon enough Haymitch had her seated at a tiny little café at the entrance to the classic amusement park. It looked quite expensive, but Haymitch had, as a victor, a lot of money to burn, it meant nothing to him anymore.

"Chocolate covered strawberries?" Haymitch laughed as a waiter put the pre-ordered snacks on the table in front of them.

"What are you trying to do, Haymitch?" Effie asked and looked suspiciously at him. He tried his best to smile overbearing, but his nervousness kicked in as soon as he sat down.

"I'm trying to give you a pleasant evening, stop being such a …" He stopped himself, "Stop implying I only ever drink and shout at you,"

Her eyebrows shot up as she picked up a strawberry. She loved those things. He'd seen her go through endless servings of them when she was in one of her moods and it amused him greatly when the juices from a berry ended up on her clothes in the midst of her misery and she started crying about how it couldn't be just _washed _of. How many times he hadn't listened to that, her complaining like there was no tomorrow. His smile faded a bit when he realized it soon wouldn't be like that. There would be no Effie Trinket to look forward to each year. It could very well be the last day he spent with her. Ever. He'd agreed to Plutarch that he would give his life for this cause, but somehow he'd never thought about what his life actually _was. _Her. Now smiling, blushing in front of him, as she realized he was actually doing this to be nice and not to pull some twisted prank on her, white teeth biting through the sweet strawberry. Her lips would taste of that if he kissed her. He wanted her lips to be the last thing he remembered tasting. He wanted skin to be the last thing he remembered touching. He wanted _her_ to be the last thing he remembered before going of to fight a war where the odds were certainly not in his favour.

"You've changed so much lately, Haymitch," she said softly and placed the stem of the strawberry on the designated waste-plate.

"Have I?"

"It's like… I don't know. You've become so tense. Everything needs to be done in a rush and you overdo it. You're scared," she said looking intrudingly into his eyes, letting their gazes lock with no chance of him fleeing it.

"Guess I am," Haymitch admitted.

"But it _is_ a wonderful evening, I'll give you that," She didn't leave him to look at anything else for a second, but she still seemed to suddenly check out the surroundings with her remaining senses, her hands tracing the tablecloth. Her eyes had turned to stone, looking merciless into his and he felt uneasy as she started talking.

"You need to re-evaluate your Plutarch business," she said without the softness in her voice. He remembered her calling his name at the reaping. It was the same emotionless tone, like she'd _forced_ herself to not show a single feeling. "I have … people … coming to me and asking you very distinctively to shut off communication with him. It's been happening a while, but it hasn't been as bad as lately,"

Haymitch hadn't exactly been seeing their romantic, candlelit dinner as a place for talking outside the bugs, but it was probably so unexpected that they _could_ actually talk without getting noticed. Beside, there was a lot of people here, talking, laughing and the faint screams from the amusement park. Background noise. No bug would be able to pick up _anything._

"What do you mean, Effie?"

Finally she looked away. She was embarrassed to tell him. He took her hand and tried to do the same thing she did when his whole body was trembling with nightmares, for that was what she was now – trembling with bad memories.

"I don't think you understand that they want you to break, Haymitch. Snow _knows_ about us and he also knows that you're not very good at taking care of yourself in the first place, that you wouldn't care if they came for you… That's why they targeted your family all those years ago," she said, still obviously too humiliated to tell him the hard truth, which had slowly begun to form in his brain. Snow had threatened him with Effie Trinket's life. He felt sick.

"What did they do?"

"I really tried to stop them, but I… I am not as strong as them, there were three,"

"They beat you?" Haymitch kept his voice cold. There was no other way for him to say it without bursting into tears.

"They said they wanted to leave marks for you to see when you undressed me,"

"But I haven't seen any marks,"

"You haven't undressed me for a while," Effie reminded him. Not in a suggestive tone or anything but somewhere in her voice he heard a faint snippet of hopelessness.

"Guess I haven't, why … Why didn't you just tell me?" Cold. Calculating. He tried. His voice cracked, beaming the hurt right at her.

"I wanted you to continue working,"

"What changed then?"

"Yesterday they… I wasn't ready for that, it was … How do I …" She was close to tears. "No… No I didn't even want to tell you today, but here you are, being so nice to me and I just… I dream of a future sometimes and it's not very pretty. Not if you – but I really can't take it if they…"

Haymitch felt his heart pounding and his fists clenching, then nothing.

"Princess, listen… It'll be over soon," He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. It was the tactical side that had also overridden his emotional system during the games. He had a woman who had been literally abused because of him, crying a confession in front of him and all he thought about was the fucking rebellion. With all of this raging inside him he heard the heartless Haymitch say another line: "You just need to take it another few days it'll be alright then," It was a lie. He could have slapped himself for letting go of her hand, ultimately tearing them apart. He grabbed the glass of wine and downed most of it in two big gulps. No, he wouldn't face this. Not like this. She sat speechless in front of him. He figured she'd have said something about manners if this weren't a subject where she was basically pouring her heart out to him. She trailed around the edge of the glass with her finger and sighed before getting up.

"And I thought you meant it. The thing you wrote in that stupid bird. I should've known better," She spat very un-ladylike at his feet on the otherwise darling cobblestone.

"Effie…" he started but the beginning night had already swallowed her tiny figure. No this was not at all what he'd expected of this evening.

* * *

He called the waiter and ordered another glass of wine.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: **_Well, here's a chapter. Enjoy it. Because it'll be a while before I can update again. Tomorrow marks the start of a vacation and my lovely best friend is coming and I will probs not be able to write while she's here - and since this is the only fic I write as I go there probably won't be updates until the week after next week :) _

* * *

It took a few drinks before her parting sentence sunk in. He drank the rest of the night to forget it, but a clear thought always cut through the haze of even experimental, expensive Capitol liquor, which made even him wary of the safety (though his own safety wasn't exactly his concern right now). The thought of her sitting there, long fingers opening the paper crane he'd made for her made him somehow uneasy. He tried to imagine what she was thinking as her eyes glanced over the three little words hidden inside it, tried to imagine what her face looked like. For some reason he thought she would have been surprised. Surprised to read the words where he admitted to feelings. He recalled saying the three words to her in irony a long time ago, but they'd changed meaning since then. She had often enough told him how she cared for him (never with the three words written in the crane, though), but he was bad at it. Admitting to loving her would mean he would have to detach himself from his past, which he was admittedly already trying to drink away, but he had some bond with it. He wouldn't forget it, no, but he would … accept it. Move on. He would love something that came from the same place as the pain and suffering he had been through. The Capitol. Effie wasn't the most extreme citizen he'd ever met, but she certainly had some fucked up priorities because she never had to suffer for a single day of her life – until she met him. He looked up at the stars, shining over him. These were the same stars that shone over district 12, but they looked less clear, less soothing through the smog of the polluted big city. He wondered where she was now. He feared someone had heard them talk, that she was already in the hands of the president's guards. Subconsciously he pinched his arm through the shirt to scare away the thoughts of her lying helpless on her back somewhere, being forced to… No.

It wasn't that he didn't know it would be that way for her if he decided to go to thirteen alone. It was just… He had – contrary to popular belief – always really _wanted_ to see the goodness of other people. And Effie was one of theirs no matter how he twisted and turned it. She might only be half Capitol, might be in a bad light with the president, but the people… They wouldn't let them just torture her. _But they already have. She's been abused and beaten several times, just because of you, nothing is sacred here. Women, children, nothing,_ his thoughts screamed to him. His hands clenched around the steel edge of the bench where he was sitting, but he let go as he realized this was what they wanted. They wanted him to break down and blow off everything for her, because they _knew_, maybe before he even knew himself, that he loved her and that he wouldn't be able to just …_ leave_. He could. Just as he could win the Hunger Games. Just as he could allow them to drag him here on a train each year. But he would never forgive himself, just as he could never forgive himself for what he had done in the past.

"Would she get imprisoned? Effie," Haymitch simply asked into the cell phone. Plutarch's voice on the other end sounded nervous. Sure they were tracing this call.

"Mr Abernathy, I don't think you're quite sober,"

"Answer the question Heavensbee," Haymitch ordered and decided to lay down for a bit on this bench. He had no idea where he was, but a taxi could take him home.

"Yes," he heard the game maker say.

"Why not you then?" Haymitch insisted.

"I'm not like her, I've never …" _Killed children. Never been the face of everything a district feared. Never had the voice of the Reaper. Never been to the districts. _

"Ok," Haymitch said while his thoughts were slowly murdering his sanity. He threw the cell to the ground and watched it break into a few pieces. So Effie was in it for interrogations, probably torture and imprisonment both in thirteen and here. What little flicker of hope he'd had, left him.

* * *

When it came down to it, the decision wasn't his to take and he felt guilt at the fact that he'd allowed himself to be relieved by it, if only just a little. Maybe it was because he'd imagined it much more dramatic. But Effie was a lady and when they came for her, she followed without putting up a fight. She'd been gone a few days now and he felt more empty than he knew was possible. Like not only had the loneliness carved out his insides, but also something more – _his very soul._ Her father had died. Yesterday. By the unknown beast. That too had been undramatic, Haymitch never even saw the body being lifted onto the hovercraft. He spent most of his time drinking away the tears, slumped on the couch waiting for the final day to come. Of course he wasn't happy. There was nothing at all to be happy about, but he had accepted it. Effie had accepted it. She hadn't talked to him at all, but when they followed her out she had sent him a look, that made his entire body freeze and made him want to crawl into the tiniest hole in the universe to die. Now all that was left was Portia, who didn't even try to hide her hatred anymore. He'd cost her her lover; Cinna, and her close friend; Effie. Wasn't like she hadn't got reason to hate him.

* * *

The whole thing was so unreal to him. He never thought he would be one to just clock out on everything, but somehow he couldn't handle his surroundings even when they changed from the high paced Capitol to the strict order of District 13. He had his orders though and he completed them, somewhat happy about the military discipline he was forced into. Didn't leave much room for thoughts. Everything else than the tasks at hand appeared as nothing but lucid memories. Sometimes, something would rip through them though, like a scissor through a delicate chiffon fabric. A touch, a smile, a scent. Slowly everything around him began screaming with her voice and there was nothing he could do. He seemed to have lost the ability to react properly to it, the ability to move on or at least just… reconcile with the fact that she was gone. Every time he tried dealing with it, reading her file (though it didn't say much) or looking at the old tapes from the games, his brain just stopped. He could see and feel what he was supposed to feel (fear, anger, hatred, guilt), but it never went away, it never stopped again. He could fold a thousand paper cranes to distract himself (something 13 frowned upon, wasting paper on such a thing), but it never covered up the shake of his hand, which he couldn't solely dedicate to the fact that there was no alcohol – save for medical – in district 13. He missed her. He felt guilty. More guilty than he had ever felt before in his entire life, for it was truly his fault that they were apart now. She would have been safe had he never made that advance on her all those years ago. Daring her to do it. Steadily falling more and more in love with the woman until he could suddenly realize that it was not the same without her. Sometimes he was scared he'd forget what she looked like even though her face had been often enough on TV, humiliated without her wig, make-up or even decent clothing. Saying things that not even the Capitol itself would believe she meant. Crying about how it was her fault. Screaming his name straight into the camera (he usually had to turn away during these parts, while he felt some unfamiliar hand pat him on the back with sympathy he didn't deserve). She never got a chance to say what exactly it was that she felt so guilty about. She wasn't on as frequent as Peeta. She wasn't a star-crossed lover from twelve, but she _was_ someone who could be recognized by the giant poster behind her marking her as a traitor. Caesar spoke softly to her, asked her if she was alright and Haymitch had seen her blink away fresh tears from bruised eyes as she was forced to say the Capitol treated her nicely through cut lips. Her fault? No, this wasn't her fault. No matter what she thought was her fault, her forgiveness would be instantly granted by the things they'd done to her. By the things they still did to her.

"Haymitch," Plutarch's voice dragged him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times looking up into the tired face of the game maker.

"We need you," he continued and motioned for Haymitch to follow him. Haymitch felt his body ache when he got up, but he tried not letting it show. Without the alcohol to dull his pain, he experienced the full force of the life he had been leading up until now.

"What for?" he asked and ran a hand through his hair to disguise the sigh he had to let escape from his lips, though he looked forward to an assignment, something to occupy the otherwise empty space in his mind. Leaving less places for the sorrow to grow and drive him mad.

"It was successful," Plutarch only said "But the boy has gone mad,"

"How many did you get?"

"It was far too easy, they wanted us to have these people, Haymitch," Plutarch said as they walked together towards the busy area of the hospital. There were people everywhere but as usual in district thirteen nobody raised their voice unless it was absolutely needed so an eerie normality had embraced the place. Their actions didn't fit with the volume of the words they were speaking so it seemed as if somebody had just… turned them down. That was until several screams penetrated the tense air and everybody looked at the slabs coming in. The nurses and doctors quickly began categorizing them into groups after the severity of their injuries. Not many were at the point of dying, but he didn't get a chance to see the few who were.

"But the boy is here?" Haymitch asked and nodded towards the people being taken to isolated hospital rooms. The room was spinning for him and he couldn't recognize a single face.

"Peeta Mellark is amongst the ones already identified, I was hoping for your assistance in identifying the rest,"

"Are they all district people?" Haymitch asked and moved towards the people who were sitting in chairs or just lying resting in beds waiting for healers, though they were far from first priority.

"No. No, most of them are probably from the Capitol itself, but it's only people from the cellars," Plutarch replied.

"Alright, whatever," Haymitch said and sighed as he took a clipboard and a pen from the nearest nurse who just looked surprised at him and muttered a few words under her breath. Most of the people he saw frequently in district 13 knew not to cross his ways and apparently rumour had it that he could become violent.

"What's your name then?" he asked the nearest person and behind him he heard Plutarch sigh with relief. He'd probably never counted on Haymitch helping.

"Wes Julliard, sir," the man replied to him and as Haymitch dotted the name down on the back of the paper the nurse had been using he could hear nothing but Effie calling his own name at the reaping with that blank voice. It crept up on him, but overwhelmed him and he had to shake his head to make the thoughts clearer as he moved to the next person and so on. He knew some of the names already or had heard them before. Politicians mainly, unimportant people who had probably ended up in the cellars because they said something unwisely. Haymitch tried not to think about how many of them would be going to prison when this war was over.

"Sally Frumphtyan," He wrote down the name, not really caring about the spelling. The ladies in logistics would be looking up most of the names anyway to classify what sort of punishment or containment these 'salvaged' Capitol citizens would get. Somehow it was sick to him. They'd been victims of the rebellion as well, just… Higher class victims. His thoughts re-entered the memory of Effie getting up, straightening her pencil skirt and going with the guards who had not hesitated to just knock down the door to collect her, going with them silently in a fashion which was probably more offensive to the president than if she'd scratched their eyes out. No, at that point she was holding on to tiny shreds of dignity and showing them how a proper human reacted was worth more than anything _he_ could accomplish in this miserable war. High class. Jotting down names of the survivors that were able to talk was easy, but when Plutarch led him on to the victims that were already declared dead the conveniences stopped. Haymitch didn't exactly welcome the idea of having to touch dead bodies, but there wasn't much else he could do – and he _had _ already started this task, so why not see it to the end?

"Seen anyone you know Heavensbee?" Haymitch asked to break the sudden silence.

"I know a lot of those people, Haymitch, a lot of them don't like me," Plutarch admitted.

"Why not? I thought you were some sort of national hero?"

"These people have not been in that cellar for fun," Plutarch reminded him "Some Capitol people didn't exactly _enjoy_ the Games,"

"Hard to imagine,"

"Oh, but you've only ever seen the glamorous side of it, Haymitch," he said and opened a wallet from the pants pocket of a male with slick green hair.

"Glamour," Haymitch laughed a bit, but stopped quickly as he found it too odd to laugh amongst dead people. He looked at a nametag on a coat of a young woman. The last name reminded him of something.

"Isn't Gillianis that vodka everybody's drinking in the Capitol?" he asked. Plutarch looked up and stared at the woman like he'd never seen a human being before.

"Oh God, not you …" he whispered softly and walked over to her. She'd died from a bullet wound just below her collarbone. How she'd even made it to the hovercraft was a mystery.

"Mr Gillianis is one of the rebels in the Capitol, without him we would have never been able to be here today," Plutarch explained, "This is his daughter Melody,"

Haymitch took a step back. This war, claiming these types of people, just… Casually connected to persons of interest. Melody had – according to Plutarch – never been part of her father's business, so this woman, not much younger than Effie was just caught. Caught to be used against her father, just like Peeta was caught to use against Katniss. Just like Effie had been used against him.

"Did you know her?" Haymitch asked and wrote the name _Melody Gillianis _with a prettier handwriting than the rest of what he'd done.

"Yeah… Yeah," Plutarch said and touched the dead girl's cheek. Haymitch kind of felt like he was intruding into a private moment so he didn't say anything when Plutarch tried to discreetly wipe away a tear.

"It hurts a bit when you see something like this," Plutarch said and put a white cloth over the body and her face after stroking the light blue hair for a bit. Haymitch couldn't help thinking about Effie after her break down at the interviews, Plutarch pulling every feeling back and only putting up an attitude of polite sadness, fake sadness, while the real feelings were probably raging within him.

"All right, I guess that's them. We have to go check the severely injured,"

"Why?"

"Because Coin is paranoid someone will infiltrate her organization from within, I don't know Haymitch, can we _please_ just _go?_" Haymitch dared not even try resisting the man's orders. The pain in his eyes faded slightly as they walked back out the door to the morgue and Haymitch heard him let out a sigh of relief and saw Plutarch physically straightening his back leaving whatever history he had had with Melody behind him.

* * *

Nurses and healers were tending frantically to the severely wounded, but it wasn't all mortal damage. Mostly it was just torture, torture wasn't meant to kill people, but this kind of heavy torture could. Many of them had been whipped or shocked. Most of the women (and even some of the men) showed obvious signs of sexual abuse. Some of the victims were sweating like there was no tomorrow – Plutarch told him it was due to the after effects of some fire-pill the Capitol had developed to scorch the insides of torture victims with pain. Many tongues were found to be missing – the transitional face of becoming a lifeless servant of the Capitol, an avox. Some faces were so beaten up they were unrecognizable. Some could tell their own names through gritted teeth. Haymitch tried not to think as he wrote down the names on the list, which was by now pretty extensive. These were mostly victors. He could sometimes guess their districts from their face.

A loud scream attracted his attention and without even thinking he was at the foot of the bed furthest away from the door. He looked down at the bloody mess, where healers and nurses tried uncovering her skin, which seemed to be burning right of her body. But he could see her face in short glimpses when the people around her shifted positions. His brain could process the picture of her mouth opening and the sound of her scream. The clipboard fell to the floor and he felt what he had thought he would never feel again.

Hope.


End file.
